Glass
by Mazkeraide
Summary: When a selfish prince makes a bad decision, he dooms not only himself but his entire staff. Years later, a young woman cursed by the same spell comes to the castle to save him. Will she be able to break the spell? COMPLETE. R&RSVP.
1. The Prince and His Crime

I actually started this a while ago, and while browsing through old documents on my computer, I found the first draft of this. With a little revising, it pretty much tripled in size and hopefully in quality.

I took the "Beauty and the Beast" story and adapted it to fit what I thought should have happened. For example, turning into a beast because you won't let an old hag spend the night at your castle? Sorry, but that's bull. Don't get me wrong, I love the movie as much as the next person, but...

**Warning: **There's a bit of incest in this chapter so I hope you're okay with that. That's why it's rated T. Also, the "God" mentioned here is _not_ supposed to represent the Christian God- I'm a Christian myself, and I believe in God loving everybody. So don't be offended, fellow Christians- I'm not slamming your deity.

**Disclaimer:**I do not own the original fairy tale- that's the Grimm brothers. I also don't own the Disney movie or anything else related to it. I only own this work. So also don't steal it. It's a sin.

Enough blather! Let's enjoy the story!

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**Chapter 1: The Prince and His Crime**

Once upon a time, as so many stories begin, in a kingdom long lost to the world, there was a king. This king had one son, his heir, but his wife had not conceived another child and so this one was precious to him. But when the Crown Prince reached his twentieth year, the queen bore the king another son. He was naught but an afterthought to his family, a gift from God when his mother had thought herself past bearing. This son's name is long lost to the annals of history, but what is known about him was that he was spoiled, vain, and selfish. His brother was practically king when the young prince was born, and had an heir by the time the prince reached his fifth year. He had no worries, and he lived as such a man does.

The prince was not rich, but he had a small castle and duchy in the north of the kingdom. Once he had lived in court, but his behavior was such that his brother, now king, had sent him away. But far from being ashamed, the young prince merely pursued his hobbies there, in the relative secrecy of the empty hills.

The prince was overly fond of drink, and of women. He was quite handsome, and used his looks liberally in seducing any young woman he came into contact with. He was known to be quite cruel, as any time one of his victims was found to be carrying his child, she was put to death. Men cloistered their wives away, women took to wearing veils or disguising their beauty in any way possible. Few escaped his notice, and those who did praised God for His small mercies, and that He would continue to protect them.

When the prince was in his twenty-second year, he stood upon the ramparts of his castle and surveyed the road to the royal city. It was not something he did often- in fact, he thought later, it was as if God had sent him there on that day just so he could see her.

Riding up the road was a beautiful young woman. Her hair, which was blond and curling, hung loose down her back, and even from a distance he could tell her face had delicate, narrow features, and that her figure was full. Surely this maiden was coming to his castle, and, if so, she would grace his bed by the end of a week's time. For quite a while the prince contented himself with watching her ride. She was accompanied by a small party of guards and a carriage which probably held her luggage. Surely she was a traveling noble, or a lady in disgrace sent to her fellow disgraced prince. When she came still closer, the prince left the wall and walked to the courtyard to greet her personally. In nearly four years, she was the first noble visitor he had had.

She was yet more beautiful up close. Her cheeks had a fine, healthy blush to them, and her nose was dusted with pale freckles. Her eyes were an astounding shade of blue that captured his and held them. Her lips were a soft pink-red, and yes, she was even more robust up close.

The prince raised his hand to help her off her horse. She smiled. "Your Highness," a guard from behind her said, presenting a letter. The prince nodded and stuffed the missive into his doublet for later. He smiled at the young lady, and she at him. She was smitten already, he could tell. It was all just as well, for he was truly smitten with her for the first time in his life.

When the lady was escorted to her rooms to settle in, the prince remembered the letter and pulled it out to read it.

_My dear brother,_

_My daughter Imogene has recently found herself in a bit of trouble at our court, and so I send her to your care. I trust you have deserted your former habits and can aid Imogene in turning away from her own._

_I know this is a terrible imposition of me, but I trust that you shall find royal company comforting after all these years, and she can fill you in on the happenings at court, and the actions of your former…friends. _

_I do not know how much news you hear from the capital in the country, but I fear I must give you some bad news. Recently, a plague of epic proportions struck our fair city, taking much of our population with it when it left, including my dear wife Elia and my son and heir Jules. This, of course, would make you my heir. I urge you to keep in mind that any action you perform, you perform as our future king._

_I write to you not as your king, but as your brother. Imogene is the only family I have left. Protect her, please._

_His Royal Highness_

_King Rudolf John Aleghieri _

The letter was sealed with his brother's seal. The prince had to sit in a chair. He was Crown Prince, and this beautiful woman with whom he had fallen in love was his niece. He was to act responsibly, and that would include not seducing the princess.

He threw the letter into the fire.

He spent his evening wooing the young princess. She knew full well who he was, and he who she was, and still he seduced her, and still she allowed herself to be seduced. As the evening wore on they flirted, talked, and cuddled. At last, the prince escorted the princess to his bedroom, and they spent the night together.

The two continued their romance for nearly a month. Then one morning, the princess brought news to her lover. She had conceived a child.

Immediately the prince's carefree life ended. This mistress he could not execute as he had to those in the past. The enormity of his crime struck him. He had bedded and, further, impregnated his niece knowingly, after his brother had begged him to protect her. Finally the prince realized the import of his position as Crown Prince. A Crown Prince did not cavort with young ladies he was not wedded with, especially not his niece. A Crown Prince, when he discovered a woman pregnant with his child, did not execute her, but married her, if she was a noble, or pay her well to keep her silence and raise her child comfortably, if she was a commoner. As Crown Prince, his first action had been to fail miserably. And now he had to live with the consequences.

Immediately he dashed off a letter to his brother.

_Your Majesty, my brother,_

_Imogene is quite enjoying her stay in the country, and, in fact, that is why I feel prompted to write to you. The quiet here in the countryside is quite different from the bustle of court, and the princess has expressed her wishes to remain until next summer. _

_Believe me, brother, when I say that it is no imposition at all to have her stay here. She is wonderful company, and her presence is welcome in the too-long-empty halls of my castle. I only hope she will not be too much missed at court during her sojourn here. _

_Your humble servant and brother._

The letter was sent off hastily and soon a reply came, saying simply that of course the princess could stay as long as she was welcome. Relieved of one small burden, the prince allowed himself to relax slightly. His brother didn't know yet, and didn't suspect, but there were still eight months to survive before the child was born.

Unfortunately, servants gossip, and though uneducated, are far from stupid. Every employee of the castle knew the paternity of the princess's child, and were eager to tell their village friends why the princess from the capital was staying so long in the countryside, empty as it was of royal entertainment. The servants' friends told their friends, and any travelers, willingly, and the word spread to the capital. The king heard, but refused to believe. Surely his brother had changed. Surely his responsibility as Crown Prince had caused him to become more responsible.

"O Lord, who sees and knows all," the king prayed, "tell me my brother has changed. Let this foul rumor not be true. And if it be true, punish them rightly, as You see fit. For Imogene may be my daughter, but this is an unforgivable crime, in my eyes as well as Yours. But before You punish, O Lord, let this rumor not be true!"

Fervently he prayed, but the rumors persisted, until he was all but driven mad by them. All he could do was wait for summer, when, with all luck, his daughter would return.

* * *

The child was born on a sunny day in late May. A son, born healthy. Imogene had an easy labor, but was exhausted at the end. The prince had initially intended to send the child away to be raised elsewhere, but once he saw the small, wrinkled red face, he knew he could never give him up. Illegitimate though he was, he was the prince's son, and the prince was a father.

Imogene stirred in her sleep, waking. She looked up at the prince and smiled weakly. He leaned down to her, still holding their child, and kissed her forehead.

A blinding light filled the room. The prince turned and looked to its source. An angel stood before them, glimmering brilliantly with the light of heaven. Imogene screamed. The baby began to wail. The prince could only stare in terror and awe.

"The two of you are guilty of a most heinous sin," the angel said in a voice like thunder, and the pounding of waves on the shore, and like the mad rush of wind through the trees. "Knowingly was this child conceived immorally. The Lord has declared the two of you shall be punished."

In another flash of light the prince and his lover were transformed into hideous beasts, monsters such as the world had never seen except in myth. He let out a great roar of pain and despair, while she merely whimpered softly.

The angel spoke again. "Like beasts did you conceive this child, and therefore like beasts shall you live."

"What-" the prince's voice was a low growl, and he was so surprised that he had to begin his sentence again. "What will happen to our child?"

"The Lord does not blame a child for the sins of its parents. Your child will be taken care of." The angel took the child up from where he had fallen and cradled him gently in his arms. "The Lord, however, is merciful," he continued, almost gently. "He grants you speech, that you may communicate. And He grants you hope. Should either of you find someone to love you for yourself, and should you fall in love with them, truly, then your curse shall be reversed, and you shall be free. However, the Lord grants you only twenty-five years in which to achieve this, or else the curse will become irreversible."

The angel turned as if to leave, then looked back upon the stricken couple. "So that the entire world shall not know your shame," he said, "your household is made unable to spread word of you to the world."

Another flash of light spread throughout the palace, and when it was gone, so was the angel, and the prince's child.

The entire castle staff had been changed to inanimate household objects, related mostly to the jobs they worked. All but one.

She was a pretty young scullery maid, married to one of the gardeners, and pregnant with her first child. She had been sent out to town to purchase fish for the prince's table, and was just returning when the light filled the castle grounds. In the space of the flash, her life was changed, but she alone remained human, but for the hand which had gripped the gate, which was now made entirely of glass.

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Yes, it's a cliffhanger ending. Luckily this time I'm trying to not post until I have the next bit written, because doing otherwise tends to end in angry readers (see my other fanfic _Efiathe's Champion_). So yes, I know what happens next and hopefully will update soon. Until then, review, please. (I'm not going to bother telling you to read, because I'm assuming you already have).

!--Mazkeraide--!


	2. The Wrath of God

K well I'm back from DC and quite gratified to see this has actually been read, apparently, and reviewed, so thanks to all of you!

I've already broken my vow and I'll admit I haven't written Chapter 2. But that's okay because we're just gonna roll with it. I have an idea of where this is going, at least.

Um. There's a lot of info packed into this wee little chapter (and hence it isn't quite so wee.) Read it, love it, and hopefully the real story will start soon. This is all a lot of buildup. Chapter 3, I promise, will start going back to the original plot. As for now...deal.

I'm done being bossy/apologetic/rude/w/e, so now you can read! Woohoo!

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**Chapter 2: The Wrath of God**

A wild-eyed woman dashed into the center of town, attracting considerable attention as she did so.

"Isn't that the newcomer's wife?" some asked. She was indeed- she and her husband had arrived in their town only six weeks before, whence they had immediately found service in the prince's castle. Some recognized her as a palace employee, and were eager to question her about the blaze of light they had seen from the castle only moments before.

At last, an aging tinker managed to grab her arm and hold her. "What is it, goodwife?" he asked concernedly. "What is it that has you running like the devil himself is after you?"

The woman stared into his eyes, unseeing in her terror, and then fell to the ground unconscious.

* * *

She awoke in the tinker's cottage. At first she had no idea where she was, and she panicked. Slowly her memory came back to her- the fish, the flash of light, her hand- Surely it was all a dream? She raised her hand and all but screamed. Yes, her hand had indeed been formed into glass. It was hard and unmovable, and perfectly clear. She couldn't even feel it, much less move it. 

Glass past her wristbone. Oh, God.

Whistling cheerily, the tinker entered his home. Seeing the woman awake and staring aghast at her hand, he stopped his song abruptly and stared hard at her. She, noticing the sudden silence, glanced up at him.

"Would you like to explain how that happened?" the tinker asked at last, gesturing at her hand.

The woman stared, unblinking, past him. "Fish," she began dully, "I was sent to fetch fish for the prince's table. So I left. I went to the market. I bought those damn fish."

The tinker waited a minute after she ceased speaking. "But your hand-" he prompted.

"I had just reached the castle," she continued in the same dead voice. She still hadn't blinked. "I heard a noise- a noise like the wrath of God. I ran, and I grabbed the gate to let myself in. My husband- my husband was in there!" she practically screamed, emotion in her voice at last. Tears began to pour down her face. "My husband! Oh, God, my husband! Surely he's dead! Oh, God! Why did I leave? Why did I ever leave him?"

The tinker watched, shocked out of speech, as the woman burst into hysterics. He had never married, and this was precisely the reason why. He didn't understand women at all. But here- who even knew what had happened at the castle? This woman, possibly. He had to calm her, find out. The old gossips in town would love this knowledge. And, he'd admit to himself, he wouldn't mind knowing himself.

So he sat down next to her and began to calm her down.

"Now, now," he said gently, awkwardly petting her hair. "I'm sure he's not dead. We can go by and look tomorrow if you want. Aye, and you can come with us. There, there. That's better now, isn't it? Deep breaths, now. Calm down, and then you can finish your tale."

Slowly the woman calmed herself. Her ravaged sobs became hiccupping breaths, and her tears dried. Her eyes were still red and puffy, and chances were she'd soon develop a headache, but for now she was capable of speech, praise God!

"I-I grabbed the g-gate," the woman said, her breath still catching slightly. "Then there was a-a flash of l-light. I w-was frightened, and I p-pulled my hand away. B-but it was t-t-too late-" She broke off into sobs again.

"So," the tinker prompted gently, "you don't know what happened at the castle?"

"The wrath of God," the woman said, over and over. 'The wrath of God. The wrath of God."

* * *

The tinker gathered a few of his friends the next day and they went to the castle to discover the truth. The walked up the empty, tree-shrouded path and opened the iron gate which had so grotesquely altered the serving woman living at the tinker's house. He had left her asleep on his bed, with an old midwife looking after her. It was a slow time for babies, after all. 

As the men mounted the meandering walk to the doors of the castle itself, they began to hear strange things. Murmurs sounded faintly over the manicured lawns, whispers seemed to emerge from the bushes. The more fainthearted of the men began to feel the first gnawings of fear in their bellies- and none of them were cowards.

The bravest and most charismatic of them, a woodcutter named Hans, opened the castle door. All inside looked as it should- or how they imagined it should, none of them ever having been inside a castle- clean, heavily decorated. But there was an eeriness in its atmosphere that came mostly from the utter lack of human life.

Still voices followed them. Indoors they seemed louder, echoing off the stones of the walls, down the empty halls. But although the men looked frantically, they could find no source of the noise. It was as if the noises came from within the walls themselves- a frightening prospect that gave the bravest of the men the willies.

The group decided against splitting up- in a place like this, who knew what would happen?- and so traversed the corridors much more slowly than they otherwise would have. They located what appeared to be the laundry- sheets all over the floor in random places, usually in pairs; neat piles of folded napkins; clothes strung up to dry; cold water filled with vestiges of soap; washing boards floating in the water, unattended, with others on the floor. An oddly placed iron- lying on the floor atop an unwrinkled sheet, a yard from the nearest ironing board- seemed to demonstrate a quick departure- if indeed the women working here had departed. The room's uncanny emptiness prompted the men to leave it all the faster.

They continued this exploration until at last they came to the kitchen- and this room was enough to make them leave. There was a strong smell of burned meat, as though the fire had been left unattended, and the coals still smoldered in the gigantic fireplace. Pots and pans were scattered everywhere- on the floor, over the counters, in the sinks. A rolling pin sat in a cauldron near the fireplace. And here the whispers were loudest of all, as though whoever the voices were lived en masse in the kitchen.

It was at this point that the more fainthearted men began to beg their leaders to leave.

"No," whispered the tinker, leaning over and picking up a pot from the floor. "Listen."

He held the pot up, and it was clearly heard to say, in a woman's voice, "Help! Oh, please help! Cursed by the Lord we are, for our prince's folly! Help!"

The tinker dropped the pan like it was on fire, and the clang momentarily drowned out the pitiful voices. It also seemed to awaken something deep within the castle, for suddenly the men heard a roar of immense fury.

"Let's get out of here," Hans whispered to the tinker, who nodded. The men turned toward the kitchen door, planning to slip out unmolested- which they almost did. They were halfway across the ground when the creature caught them.

It was easily the most frightening thing any of the men had seen. Huge, disgusting, hairy, with teeth like a lions and a roar to match, it chased them down as a fox runs down a hare, and the men became paralyzed by fear.

But the monster did not attack them. Instead, it stopped just short of them, and the look in its red eyes went from rage to sadness.

"I thought perhaps," it said in a low growl, "you were household servants who had escaped the curse. Forgive me, gentlemen."

Too shocked to answer, the men just stared.

"I suppose you've come to discover what's happened," the beast continued. "I will tell you only this much- I have been cursed by God, and only a maiden can save me now. Begone!" he cried, dismissing them, and the men ran.

* * *

Frightened beyond belief, the tinker arrived back at his cottage in the late afternoon. He bid the midwife farewell, and she seemed to leave, although really she waited outside his door until he was ready to talk. 

The woman was sitting on her bed, watching him with a calm that belied the turmoil inside. "Well?" she asked breathlessly. "What was it like?"

The tinker sighed, unwilling to destroy this woman's hopes. "Empty," he began, and immediately knew this was the wrong choice of word because the woman began sobbing. "No, no, that's not what I meant," he said quickly, sitting on the bed beside her and placing a hand on her shoulder. "There aren't any people there, sure. But your husband's still alive. Everyone in the castle is. They've merely been changed into- into household materials."

At this, the woman began to sob louder and her tears to fall harder. "It explains your hand perfectly," he said, trying to cheer her up. "And we heard from one of them" -he was hardly going to say it was the prince himself, transformed into a monster!- "that it only takes a maiden to save them all. That's all. This whole problem's bound to be solved soon enough, and you'll have your husband back."

But the woman only gasped in a desperate breath for air and said, so quickly he could barely hear it, "I'mgoingtodie!"

"Whoa now," the tinker exclaimed. "You're not going to die."

"Yes," she said in the same dull tone as yesterday. She held up her wrist; the glass was clearly half a centimeter farther spread along her arm than the day before. "It's spreading. It's a poison."

* * *

The tinker met the midwife outside the cottage. He thought she had left long before, but apparently she had something incredibly important to say. 

"What could you possibly need from me?" he asked irritably.

"I don't want to stick around this hovel any more than you want me to," the midwife replied saucily. "I just thought you needed to know this."

"Then tell me, woman!"

"It's about your guest sir. You see, she's nearly five months pregnant."

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Woot another cliffhanger! I bet you're super excited! 

I mentioned this in my profile, but I don't know how many of you read those...I think this may need a new title, but I can't really think of anything (hence the rather bizarre, if relevant, title). If you can think of anything, message me/review/w/e I'm not picky. If not, that's okay, I might think of something later.

If you've read this (namely, if you're normal and don't just read author's notes all the time (which would be quite strange)), please review...they make me feel super-duper! Yay!!

!--Mazzie--!


	3. The Progression of Glass

Hey it's me again and aren't you glad I've updated so quickly?

Just finished this like five minutes ago and there was very little revision, so it might not be all that good. Um, actually I just had to get up and leave so it's like 20 minutes now but I'm sure nobody's _that_ picky. And if you are, and I just insulted you, I'm very sorry.

K done rambling...until the end that is...read on and review s'il vous plait.

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**Chapter 3: The Progression of Glass**

Days turned to weeks, and weeks to months. Still the woman from the castle stayed with the tinker, who had allowed her his extra room. He was old, after all, and lonely, and so even her presence soothed him.

The glass continued spreading up her arm, but its rate had slowed after the first week or so. Its progress was all but imperceptible, until it was observed as a whole, at which time the progress became alarming. The serving-woman knew she would not live much longer, and told the tinker so.

"It's like poison from a snakebite," she said softly. "It spreads from the point of entry up to the heart, and once it reaches the heart, you have hours if you're lucky."

"Aren't you afraid?" the tinker had asked, amazed at her matter-of-fact tone.

"I was. I came to terms with my imminent death weeks ago. I have others to think of now," she replied, patting her burgeoning womb softly.

"I only ask one thing of you," she continued, "and that is this: that you will raise my child as your own. And tell her, when she is of age, who her parents were, and let her act on her own."

The tinker nodded silently. When he noticed she wasn't looking at him, he said quickly, "Of course. I've been lonely in my old age, and a child would do me good. I could teach him the tricks of my trade-"

"What makes you so sure it will be a son?" she asked him, laughing. "I believe I shall have a daughter."

"How would you know?" he asked indignantly.

"A woman knows these things. I can tell by the way she moves."

"What, she sways her hips just so when she moves? Trust me, with a belly that large, you're sure to have a boy."

"You know nothing. You've never been pregnant, or even had a child of your own. No, this one's a girl, and I want you to name her Eirian. It means 'beautiful'. I want her to feel beautiful, even when she doesn't want to. I want her to remember me. And she will be beautiful, I just know it."

"Anything you want me to do, I will," the tinker said, then turned back to a music box he was building, muttering, "but it'll be a boy, and Eirian isn't a male name."

A peaceful silence filled the room until the woman spoke again. "If," she said, then paused and started over as the tinker turned to look at her, "If this-" she brandished her arm, now glass past her elbow, "-should reach my chest before the child is born, please try to get her out. You'll only have a few hours, and if the glass gets to her in my womb- I don't want her to suffer from this curse as I do. Even if you have to kill me, rescue her."

Startled out of speech, he nodded, wide-eyed, as she returned to gazing out the window.

* * *

It was another two and a half weeks before the glass reached her shoulder. At his guest's request, the tinker called the midwife.

"She wants you to induce the birth now," he said.

"What?" asked the midwife, who assumed she had been called to babysit again while the tinker went off on some quest. "Induce the birth?"

"The glass has been spreading up her arm, as you probably know," the tinker said, "and this morning she woke up and it had reached her shoulder. She's kept one eye on it and the other on her belly since, waiting for you. She's fearful of her child's life, now."

The midwife nodded. "Luckily she's far enough along that the child'll likely suffer no ill effects. Of course I'll do it. It's a nice alternative to shattering her womb." (**A/N:** That was actually my original idea, but I like this one better.)

The tinker nodded and made to follow her into his cottage.

"Oh no you don't," the woman said crossly. "Birthing's a woman's work, and she'll likely want no men present while she's about it. I sure as hell don't."

After hearing the midwife's promise to send for him when the child was born, the tinker went, scowling, to the local inn's common room for a good lunch. The cook there, a heavyset man named Frederic, could procure the most delicious fried chicken, and it was good for calming overwrought nerves.

"Haven't seen you in here for a while," Miranda, the middle-aged hostess, said when he entered. "Been busy with your new roomie?"

"I've been kicked out of my own house!" he growled, still frowning. "Woman's work, she told me- a curse upon that dreadful midwife!"

Miranda laughed at him. "So she's having her child, then," she said seriously when she was done. "Well, then, your lunch is on the house, to reimburse your emotional trauma." She laughed again. "Freddy!" she called back into the kitchen, "one order of fried chicken, please!"

* * *

The midwife was surprised at how easily the labor went. Her client was gratified. The glass had begun to spread faster as it neared her heart, and she knew she didn't have much time. The child seemed quite eager to be out in the world, and the midwife could see its head after only two hours or so.

She sent her apprentice, a girl of fifteen named Kathryn, to the tinker at that point. She knew he'd want to be there for the birth itself, however much he groused to the contrary. He was a man who should have had a family…_what had he been thinking?_ she wondered idly, wiping sweat off her forehead. Although the day itself was not hot, the interior of the house was, with the fire roaring and steam rising off the cauldron of water she had ordered Katy to fetch for her.

Kathryn returned within a half hour's time, just in time to see the child take its first breath. A girl.

Carefully the midwife cut the umbilical cord, despite the baby's protesting wails, and wrapped her up in a light blue blanket. She held the baby to her chest and rocked it gently, humming, while Kathryn let the tinker inside.

"Well?" he asked petulantly.

"A girl, and she'll be a lovely one," the midwife replied.

"That seemed suspiciously short to me," he said warily. "She's okay, right?"

The midwife laughed. "Of course she's okay. She's quite tired, however- she worked quite hard."

"Let me see her," a weak voice called from behind the pair. "Let me hold my daughter, please."

The midwife turned to her patient and gasped. While she had been busy with the birth, the glass had spread across the woman's chest, up her neck, and started down her torso. Its progress was visible.

Gently the midwife bent the woman's arm into a position where she could safely hold her daughter. She looked down at her child as well as she could without moving her neck, and smiled.

"My baby," she cooed, "My Ei-"

She was cut off sharply as the glass reached her mouth. The midwife watched carefully, to ascertain whether her latest delivery was about to be dropped. "What was the name to be?" she asked the tinker.

The tinker looked at the baby, scratching his head as he tried to remember. Suddenly her eyes flew open and he gasped. They were clear and empty- glass. Still the child stared at him, unseeing, but freakishly as if she saw him, knew his thoughts.

Still drawing a blank, he came up with his own. "Cecilia," he said. "'Blind one' Just look at her eyes."

And it was the child's eyes they were gazing at when her mother crystallized and died quietly.

* * *

The tinker had no heart to bury the woman. She was the first woman he had been close to, his closest friend for the few months she had stayed with him. He was to raise her child.

So he bought a coffin, buried it empty, and lay the woman's glass body on a bench in his workshop. He was later to board that bench up, make it into a separate room, so that he wouldn't have to stare at her everyday. She was distracting. But he would visit weekly, and dust her off, so that her beauty would not be marred by grime.

Meanwhile, he had a child to raise.

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This chapter was a little bit (okay, quite a large bit) shorter than previous ones, but I couldn't think of a good way to end it without going into what I wanted to be the next chapter. I apologize, but w/e and hopefully I'll have the next one up soon. Yay! Keep reading and reviewing, please. We're over a hundred hits already!

!--le Maz--!


	4. Twenty Years Later

I know what you're probably thinking, and it's "Man, her psychic skills are impressive!" No, seriously, you're wondering why I'm updating so much so fast. Fact is, I'm inspired now, and I should probably wait until I have more written to post, but I just can't resist. The reviews...they call to me...

So yeah, I'm updating as I go, which is quite unwise, but I'm sure y'all can deal with a little break occasionally. Just not for a while. As far as I can tell. I do have it mostly planned out, you know, so it's not like I'm pulling this out of my butt. And now I'm totally rambling and nobody cares so I'll let you read.

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**Chapter 4: Twenty Years Later**

_A dark castle loomed in the distance. Somehow she knew where to go…she followed an almost-hidden path to a small iron gate- a gate which seemed somehow significant besides being the way in. She pulled at the gate and, though rusted, it opened easily, as though it had been left unlocked by some careless servant, for somehow she knew this was the servants' entrance. _

_She entered through the gate into overgrown gardens that had once been beautiful. Ivy clung desperately to the castle walls, thorns and weeds blocked the paths so that they were nearly impassable. Her feet led her to a smaller garden near the edge of the palace grounds, where a hoe with a rotting handle lay, extremely out of place, against a rosebush whose flowers struggled to fight free of their encasing ivy and bloom. Mournfully, she reached out and stroked the handle of the hoe; it seemed to whisper to her. She continued hearing the whispers as she turned and left, heading for the castle itself._

_She came in through the kitchens, not wanting to attract too much attention. There was a musty smell, like mold and decay. Rusty pots and pans lay everywhere, covered in an inch of dust. Cobwebs were in every corner. The concentration of whispers grew in this room, as though the voices congregated here, as though this was where most of the voices resided. She shivered and moved on._

_She walked slowly up a narrow flight of stairs, her feet sinking into the dust, spiders scattering at her step. She came to a hallway obviously intended for the gentry- instead of bare stone walls, there were tapestries, windows richly curtained, and paintings along these walls, as well as a worn, threadbare carpet beneath her feet. She stirred up clouds of dirt as she walked, observing the rotting tapestries, the water-stained portraits, the grimy windows, and the torn curtains, committing them all to memory as if she would be tested on them. At last she came to a door. That door. Tall and wooden, it bore more signs of use than any other part of the castle. There were gouges in the door as though some animal had tried to enter; she shuddered. She reached for the handle, shiny with use, and then heard a fearsome roar. But rather than scare her away, the cry roused her curiosity, and she turned the handle-_

* * *

She knew she was awake because of the blackness. _Most people_, she reflected,_ use their familiar surroundings as a clue._ _Not I. For me, it is my blindness that tips me off._

She could always see in her dreams. They were how she knew what trees looked like, and people, and castles, apparently, since they were a recurring motif in her dreams. She could not remember ever dreaming of anything else but castles. Sometimes they were bright, inhabited, with bustling servants, laughter, and clanging pots. Other times they were rundown, dirty, empty. Sometimes it was night, and the rooms echoed with the voices of the unseen, gossiping about who knew what? But it always came down to that door, that door she never opened, that door with the monster behind it.

Once she had been terrified by it. She would wake up screaming, and her father would run in and ask what was wrong. "The monster," she would say, "the monster is coming to get me!" He would hold her in his arms and pat her head awkwardly, assuring her that there were no monsters, that if there were he would fight them off and keep her safe.

The dreams continued, but by the time she was seven, she had stopped screaming about them. She kept her night terrors to herself, waking herself up, calming herself down, and going back into dreamless sleep. One dream per night, that was always the way.

Once she had turned ten, she had begun to see what she assumed was the past- or the future- of the castle of her dreams. Shining, bright, populated. Here she always traveled up the outer stairs to the wall, where she would watch a handsome man pace back and forth, back and forth, like a caged beast. Her heart went out to this man, but somehow she always woke before she gathered the courage to speak to him. But these dreams were a peaceful respite from her disconcerting, creepy nightmares. If only she could dream of something else…

* * *

Cecilia was nineteen, two weeks away from reaching full adulthood, marriageable age, and the right to move out of her father's home if she chose. Her father was a tinker, widowed by what she presumed was a much younger wife, as he was nearing eighty. She was his only child, as was apparent from his appalling lack of experience when she was a child. But thanks to the local midwife, who had long since retired, and his friend Miranda, who still worked at the inn though she was nearly sixty-five years old, he had successfully raised his daughter to healthy adulthood.

Cecilia hadn't made it very difficult for him, however. Perhaps it was her blindness that made her such a passive, quiet baby. She rarely cried unless it was a dire emergency, and she put up with her father's ineptitude with exceeding grace. As she grew, she went from a hassle to a most wondrous responsibility in her father's eyes, as he fell in love with parenthood. He grew old while she grew up, and it was a joy to see.

At nineteen, Cecilia was her full adult size. She stood five and a half feet tall with a curvy figure and an olive complexion. Her hair fell in long waves down her back when she let it loose from her coiled braid, which was rarely, and was a pleasant brown with faint highlights of blonde. She was fine-featured, but she cared very little for that, spending large amounts of time nursing her flower garden. Her hands were callused and scarred from the pricks of rosethorns, which were frequent as she couldn't see the brambles. But she moved with the grace of one who could see. She had never used a cane, and her only concession to her blindness was her ever-bare feet, which she used to feel her way on the ground. Except for her disturbing eyes, she was one of the loveliest girls in town.

Her father, despite all this, was extremely overprotective of her. He was terrified that she would someday get lost in her rambles about the countryside, that she would be injured, that some harm should come to her. Sometimes Cecilia felt as though she had to prove to him that she could care for herself, and she did so by caring for the animals she insisted on raising. After she had discovered how much her father spent on eggs, she had purchased two chickens and a rooster, and she cared for them herself. Her father built the coop and the small fence that went around it, and Cecilia was in charge of feeding them and collecting their eggs. She never had a chicken escape from her watch, and she never missed an egg. She also was adamant that her father should have his own cow and horse, and these too she cared for. The cow was her special pet, a small brown thing named Isabel that produced sweet, thick milk. She took her father's horse, whom he was responsible for, out for rides occasionally, to her father's dismay. She was headstrong and determined in spite of her father's fear, or perhaps because of it.

If only she didn't have those eyes…

* * *

After waking from another dream, Cecilia rose. Her internal clock told her it was near enough to dawn that going back to sleep would be pointless. So she went to her closet, where her three dresses were neatly hung. They were in order- the first was her work dress, a simple brown homespun thing; the second was her second-best dress, with a skirt made of many-colored patches, used for dances and festivals; the third her church dress, a cotton dress with a pattern of roses. She grabbed the first and walked down the stairs, careful not to step on the creaky boards and wake her father. She slipped out to the barn with a bucket that was always kept next to the back door and milked Isabel. She set the bucket inside the door and grabbed the basket from the stool next to it. She took the chicken feed from the barn and fed the chickens to keep them out of the coop while she gathered their eggs. When she returned to the house, her father was up and lighting the fire.

"I was just going to do that," she said, hearing the creak of the oven door and the crackling of the fire. "You don't have to overstress your knees."

He laughed. "Really, they're not that bad, Cece. I don't mind doing a little work around the house," he told her. Under his breath, he muttered, "And you say _I'm_ overprotective."

"Maybe I can't see, Papa, but my hearing's pretty keen," Cecilia reproached him, laughing. "And you _are_ overprotective."

He scowled and snatched the basket from her hands. "Go clean up while I make breakfast, you insolent girl!"

"I'm a woman, Papa."

"Not for two weeks you aren't, so I still get to tell you what to do, and I'm going to enjoy it. Now go!" Smiling slightly, he listened to the light patter of her feet as she took the stairs two at a time. "She'll kill herself doing that someday," he said softly, "no matter what she says otherwise."

* * *

Her chores finished and her breakfast eaten, Cecilia went to visit Miranda at the inn. "Good morning, Miranda," she called cheerily as she opened the door. She could smell lemon soap in the air and feel the slight dampness of the floor that told her the common room had just been cleaned.

"Good morning to you, missy," Miranda's voice called from the depths of the room. "To what do I owe the honor of this visit?"

Carefully Cecilia navigated the tables and chairs that were never in the same position two days in a row until she reached Miranda in the kitchen. From the sounds of it, she was cleaning a pan. "I always visit you when I can, Miranda, you know that. You're like a mother to me," she said, in response to the hostess's earlier question.

"Aye, after your real mother died…I'm glad you think of me as such, Cece. I can't help but love your visits, they cheer me so. Us spinsters are especially attracted to children, seeing as we can't have any ourselves."

A voice from the back of the kitchen called, "You coulda been married years ago if you hadn't insisted on being so damn independent!"

Cecilia heard the lumbering step of Freddy, the cook. Years ago he had proposed to her, but she had turned him down, wanting to keep her inn and run it herself. Freddy had hung around, hoping she would change her mind, and when it became apparent to her that he wasn't leaving, she had hired him as her chef, and he had worked for her ever since.

Miranda laughed off his comment. "Aye, and you could have as well if you hadn't been so damn stubborn! Only one woman for you, eh? How many others did you even try?"

"Women aren't like food, Miranda. Once you find one you like, you stick with it."

"Until you get sick of it and then you try a new woman," Miranda returned.

"Naw, you're a classic, like my fried chicken. I'll never get sick of you!"

"Good Lord, Freddy!"

Cecilia, laughing, slipped out. She had heard this argument numerous times in all its variations. The women to food allegory was one of their oldest ones.

* * *

Boring chapter with lots of information and a weird ending, I know, but I couldn't keep going without it going on for like six more pages. Don't you hate that? So hopefully I'll update again in the next few days, although my sister's bunking with me this week, so it might be difficult (you need privacy to write, doncha know?) Anyway, RSVP (review, s'il vous plait, not repondez s'il vous plait, b/c that would be weird and, let's face it, y'all aren't invited to my birthday party. Even if you were, it'd be a little early...shutting up now) 

!--Mazkeraide--!


	5. The Fall Festival

I'm updating at last!

I know, it's been a ridiculously long time, and this was actually last night's update, and I may well update again later today to keep you guys satiated since school starts tomorrow (boo!). So don't freak out. Here's the update, enjoy it!

A note to Thai Libre- Because I'm not sure if I messaged you with this, I'm going to say it here. And besides, people oughta know. I'm not entirely sure I would call the last chapter a "filler" chapter- more like a part of a bigger chapter that contains a lot of information. I would say, in fact, that at least last chapter and this one and possibly chapter 6 would all be one chapter, ideally. Unfortunately, it would be ridiculously long and therefore I'm splitting them up for the sake of your internet connection.

Also, to magicalmaiden, whom I couldn't personally reply to, I was touched by your review. I honestly haven't ever had any work of mine called someone's favorite, so thank you from the bottom of my heart and I hope you enjoy the update.

Now that this blather is over with, let's read on!

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**Chapter 5: The Fall Festival**

It was days like these Cecilia wished she could see. She could hear the hammering as banners were hung and booths constructed. In the distance she heard the faint practice of a band. She could picture it in her mind- lanterns hung from ropes, a wide area cleared for dancing, colored tents, bright banners. Miranda and Freddy were frantically scrubbing the inn, as they were bound to get a good amount of business. Travelers would come from nearby towns, bringing their wares and their families. It was the Fall Festival, and the celebration would be a large one. (1) There would be music and dancing until nearly dawn, when everyone would go home and sleep in. Two days later they would be up and working again, left with cheery memories of the party that would last until the All Hallows' Eve celebration two months from now. And this year, for the first time, Cecilia could accept suitors and dance with whomever she pleased.

Cecilia, however, had never learned to dance. Because of her blindness, the words, "Then you turn like this" had never meant much to her. Once she had been eager to learn, but she had given up by the time she was six or seven. But while she knew she couldn't dance, and hoped she wouldn't have to, she also desperately wished for a partner to dance with. She wished, although she knew it was hopeless, that suddenly some boy would turn and see her and think, _I should dance with her_. Not out of pity, but out of actual longing. She wished again that suddenly the male sex would be attracted to her, if only by the fact that she was marriageable, rather than repulsed by her freakish eyes.

Sighing, she quickened her pace to reach home for dinner. (2) No, she told herself practically, there would be no dancing for her tonight. A part of her was disappointed, but another part was almost relieved. No dancing also meant no chance for humiliation in front of people who would pity rather than laugh at her.

When she reached the lane leading to her father's cottage, she could hear the sound of him hammering in his workshop, so she made a detour towards it. She knocked on the door, but he couldn't hear her, so she opened it instead.

He stopped hammering immediately. "What are you doing in her, Cece?" he asked, genuinely surprised.

"It's dinnertime, Papa, and I know you'd forget if I didn't remind you when you're working."

He scoffed at her. "Do you even have dinner prepared, lassie, or did you just want to enter my workshop?"

She held his gaze, or thought she did, although inside she felt like she had been caught. When she had been younger, she had visited in here frequently, to smell the sweet sawdust and feel the different things her father built. She hadn't been in here since her twelfth birthday, when her father had made her a doll he had refused to bring into the house. She still had the doll, whose wooden features were worn smooth from stroking. It resided on the top shelf in Cecilia's bedroom. "No, I don't, but I thought we might just have some cold ham and cheese today, and therefore you might as well come now."

He laughed at her and ruffled her hair. She could feel it sticking up and reached up to smooth it down, shooting her father a question with her eyebrows.

"It's fine," he said, understanding her unasked question. And together they went back to the house.

* * *

Even from their distance of over two miles away, the prince's caravan could hear the music and see the lights of the village. "There's some celebration going on there, Highness," the prince's personal guard, a rugged middle-aged man named Isaac.

Prince Bastien Raphael Aleghieri nodded, the motioned the rest of his party forward. "If it is a celebration," he said in a clear, definitive voice, "there will be plenty of room in the inn, and we will be welcomed and not questioned too closely."

Isaac nodded. Although he did not particularly agree with the prince's mission, which he thought pointless, he was assigned to protect the prince by none other than the king himself. The prince, his grandchild, was King Rudolf's only heir, and therefore that much more precious. Although the king had remarried shortly after Prince Bastien's appearance, his new queen, a pretty young thing named Rochelle, had proven herself unable to bear sons, giving him only three daughters whom he protected zealously. Very few on king Rudolf's staff remembered his other daughter, Imogene, and what had happened to her, but Isaac was one of those who did. He had been quite young then, and remembered wishing he was one of the guards she visited in her dalliances. Of these thoughts the king was quite unaware, which was in Isaac's best interests- Imogene was still a sore spot for him, and this knowledge would surely get him fired. Perhaps it was because of his infatuation with Imogene that he protected her son so fiercely.

Bastien had appeared in the castle in the summer after Imogene's disappearance to her uncle's castle in the far reaches of the kingdom. No one knew where he came from except King Rudolf; in fact, the only thing anyone knew about him was that Imogene was his mother, making him King Rudolf's heir. Who his father was, and what had happened to Imogene- it was doubtful even the king knew. And it was precisely this knowledge- or lack of knowledge, as it were- that had Bastien on a quest into the countryside, to his uncle's castle, to discover what had happened to his mother, and who his father was.

_The knowing,_ thought Isaac, who had heard the rumors circulating shortly before the prince's birth, _will probably shatter him._ The very thought that Bastien was not only the king's grandson, but also his nephew- it sent shivers down Isaac's spine. For the prince's sake, he hoped this quest came to nothing.

The entered the village all but unnoticed, and entered the door under the sign for the inn- the Glass Lady, a most unusual name. A fresh-faced older woman greeted them.

"Ho, weary travelers, welcome to the Glass Lady! What brings you to our small town on such a night? Surely, for people so regal in appearance as you lot, it isn't the festival." Though she smiled, her eyes were suspicious.

Isaac was about to speak, but the prince beat him to it. "We'll be needing three rooms, please, and I can't tell you how long we'll be staying," he said authoritatively.

"Can't, or won't?" the woman said belligerently, then, catching herself, smiled, a genuine one this time. "I apologize for my rudeness, gentlemen- I've always been paranoid after a few drinks. I'm Miranda. Might I ask your names before I fix up rooms for you?"

"I'm Isaac," the guard said, cutting the prince off, "and this is my ward Bastien. With us are Jack, Morris, Ben, Pieter, and Neil. We'll need a place to stable our horses as well."

Bastien looked at his feet- for all his authority, he had forgotten to ask for stable space, and had been about to divulge his true identity. "No worries, Highness," Isaac whispered to him, "you're still practicing."

But far from being comforting, these words seemed to anger him more. He had come into his majority only a few months before, and assumed that therefore he would know everything. Isaac would have despaired this, but he remembered youth well, that need to prove oneself or fall under the pressures of adulthood, and so he allowed the prince a little slack.

* * *

After settling into the bedroom he was to share with Isaac, Bastien left to join the festivities. In the middle of the street there was an area set aside for dancing, and a large group of people- his people- were dancing a lively jig. Most were sweaty and red-faced, as though they had been dancing far too long, and Bastien could tell from the music's retard that the dance was almost over. He glanced away and scanned the crowds, seeing little of interest until he noticed the only person his age he had thus far seen away from the dance floor. She was standing under a tree, leaning on it, her face shadowed by the lantern light. Fascinated, he headed her direction and reached her just as the music ended.

She looked up as he approached as though she heard him, but surely with all this noise she couldn't hear that well?

"Why aren't you dancing?" he asked, the only question that came to his mind. From across the square he had seen she was pretty, but her beauty dwarfed him, he, Bastien, who had grown up with the simpering, powdered beauty of the court ladies. Her eyes reflected the lantern light, so he couldn't see their color, but eyes so finely shaped could hardly be rendered hideous through something like color, could they?

"I can't," she said simply, coldly, and her rejection upset him.

He looked her up and down for some flaw, but could find none. "Why not? You look healthy enough. Surely you are capable of such simple movement," he said, confused.

"Capable, yes, but I don't know how," she replied, her tone still hard as stone, cool as ice.

"You've never been taught? Surely, with celebrations such as these- they're frequent, yes?"

"Oh, yes. Besides the Fall Festival, there's the All Hallows' Eve celebration, Winter Solstice, Yule, Lover's Day, Equinox, the Planting Festival, May Day, the Summer Festival, and Summer Solstice. Yes, we have many celebrations here." Now there seemed to be almost a tone of longing in her voice.

"Then why have you never been taught to dance?" Bastien was still confused.

"There was very little point, was there, since 'move your left foot like so' means very little to me." For the first time she moved out of the shadow, and the reflectivity of her eyes was revealed- they were made of glass.

"Oh, my God," Bastien said without really meaning to. The words were drawn out of him like breath held in too long, but the damage was done.

"As I suspected," the girl said, "you're no different from everyone else." And she turned and began to leave.

"No, please, don't leave- I don't even know your name!" Bastien called, running a few steps after her.

Somehow it worked. She turned back and looked in his general direction, crossing her arms.

"I didn't mean it," he said, so softly it could barely be heard over the sound of music beginning close behind him. "I've never seen anything like them before," he offered as a lame excuse.

"I'm Cecilia," she said, "and you're new, because I don't know your voice, and you're from the city, because I've heard your accent in the travelers who come through our village."

"My name's Bastien, and yes, I'm from the capital. I didn't know you were blind, and I'm sorry. The words- they just slipped out."

She raised her eyebrows ever so slightly.

"Would you like to dance?" he asked after a minute, hearing the slower music and knowing it would be easier for her to learn to dance to such an easy tune.

"I told you, I don't know how," she said, looking confused.

"I'll teach you."

"How?"

"I've been told I'm an excellent dancer- no one will be able to tell you're new to it."

"Why do you even care?"

"Because I've been alone at a party before and I know how it feels," he said, and it was true- even though he was a prince, women had shunned him for some unknown reason, as though they knew some foul thing about him that he himself did not. He hadn't known, until his birthday a few months ago, but now he understood. Still, she shouldn't be forced into the lonely position he had so long inhabited.

Her eyebrows went up even higher, and her mouth opened slightly. "You are different," she said, but she allowed him to step forward, grab her hand, and lead her onto the makeshift dance floor.

* * *

From the fringes, the tinker watched Cece dance. It was something he had never expected to see, what with her…condition, but it gladdened his heart nonetheless. He had seen the strange visiting boy talking to her, then leading her out onto the dance floor, and had been riveted. He had watched as the stranger slowly led her through her first dance, spinning her slowly and guiding her steps. He saw her blush whenever she messed up or stepped on his toes, and saw the boy lean in to whisper that she was doing fine. He felt a slight pang of jealousy- he wanted to be that close to his daughter, even though she wasn't really his. He felt it should be _he_ teaching her to dance.

By the time the slow dance had ended, she had progressed from blushing at her mistakes to laughing at them. A faster song began playing, and she was soon spinning and laughing with everyone else. Her braid came unpinned and fell down her back, and flyaway hairs framed her face. In that moment she was so beautiful, the tinker could almost forget the dire news he had to tell her in only two weeks, the story that would rip that smile from her face and replace it with sad thoughtfulness that might or might not take her away on a strange quest to find her true family. He wanted desperately not to tell her, so desperately- she was his, he had raised her, he wanted to keep her- but a promise made to anyone dying is a promise to be kept.

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1.) The prince's child was born in late May. At that time, Cecilia's mother was almost five months pregnant. Late September is about four months later. When Cecilia's mother was eight months pregnant, in late August, she had the "what to do when I die" conversation with the tinker, and two and a half weeks later Cecilia was born. So Cecilia's birthday is September 16. The Fall Festival takes place around Labor Day, but there is no Labor Day in this town, so it's just a random festival.

2.) FYI for those not versed in "old-fashioned-ism", dinnerlunch and supperdinner. Weird, yes. And I don't know why either.

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Whew. Hope you got the footnotes, because I wanted to make sure no one was confused...the numbers are idk hard to see maybe?

Anyway, I hope you enjoyed, now click the review button and let me know!

!--Mazzie--!


	6. The Prince

Hey, all, it's me again...updating now since I start hardcore school Monday (don't take precalc! DON'T TAKE PRECALC! (I'm serious it's day 2 and already I'm confused)).

So here's chapter 6.

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**Chapter 6: The Prince**

It was late on the night of the Fall Festival- or perhaps it was early in the morning after the Fall Festival- when the tinker and his daughter returned home. He was flushed with beer, and she with joy, and it was enough to keep them laughing, and to make them stumble- he from misjudgment, and she from inattention. They entered the house and Cecilia helped the tinker into his bed, where he immediately fell into a drunken stupor, and proceeded to blow out the lamps they had lit and climb the stairs to her attic bedroom.

Still paying little attention, she tripped over her work boots- a formality that she donned only in the coldest winter- and caught herself on her bed. Her toes stung a bit, but she laughed and flopped backwards onto the pillows. What a night this had been! Someone had asked her to dance, someone had taught her to dance, someone had laughed at her and laughed with her and, it seemed, taught her to truly laugh. This Bastien was her first friend her own age, the first to speak to her normally and not act as though she was under some strange curse they couldn't understand. The Lord had truly blessed her tonight.

Without undressing, she fell asleep smiling, and for the first time in her life dreamt of something other than castles.

* * *

Over the next few days, the friendship between Bastien and Cecilia strengthened. He all but forgot his quest in his new pursuit of Cecilia, with whom he had decided he was in love, and she was merely happy to have a friend. They talked of everything they could think of, and many things they couldn't.

"Why is your name Cecilia?" Bastien asked her one day, as they lay on a sunny hill, staring at the sky. Well, Bastien was, anyway.

Without looking at him, she raised her eyebrows oh-so-slightly and said, "Isn't it obvious?"

He glanced down. "It's a cruel name, and I'm surprised that your father, who you profess loves you greatly, would give you such a name."

"I was newborn, and he hardly knew me. Maybe he regrets it now."

"It's still not fair. Did he not expect to love you?"

In the sudden bloom of anger rising in her chest, Cecilia decided to change the subject. "Why do you talk like that?" she asked.

"Like what?"

"Like some cultured courtier who normally has no time for people like me."

"I was raised speaking like this," he said.

"Oh, so are you some cultured courtier who-"

"No," he said, cutting her off. "Though I do know several such people."

"Well, who are you, then, and why are you here? This is the middle of nowhere, in case you hadn't noticed."

"Trust me, I did. But this is where my quest leads me."

"You're on a quest?" Bastien cringed at the tone of disbelief in her voice.

"Yes."

"Why?"

"It's personal."

"Oh, please. You can hardly have some huge secret that's too horrid to tell," she said, laughing. "Can you?" she added, almost as an afterthought.

Bastien kept his mouth shut.

"Bastien!" she said in a whining voice. "Tell me!"

"I won't," he said, hoping to end the matter there.

Cecilia took his hint and returned to her silence. But then suddenly, she sat up, looked in his direction, and said, "Bastien. Kind of a pansy name, isn't it? Who even gave it to you?"

He spluttered. "What? How can you ask such a question. You're being quite rude."

"Oh, please," she said, "you asked me first."

"My fa- my grandfather named me," he said. "He wanted a good, strong name for me. Or so I've always thought."

"Why did you stumble there?" Cecilia asked. She was smart, that girl, for one so uneducated.

"He- He-" Bastien was at a loss for words. "I thought he was my father for years, until recently when he told me he wasn't."

"He's your grandfather instead? Then who's your father?"

"I don't know. My fath- grandfather either doesn't know or refuses to tell me. He said after his eldest son and wife died of plague, he sent his daughter, Imogene, into this part of the country to protect her from it. Some noble had a castle out here…he was very vague on that. Either way, Imogene ended up pregnant, I was born, and my grandfather raised me as his own."

"That must have been horrible," Cecilia said softly. "Was it, growing up with him so much older than you?"

"No. My father remarried, and my stepmother- well, I always thought she was my mother- Rochelle had three daughters, my sisters- well, aunts, I suppose. Isabel, Maria, and Francesca."

"So is that your quest? To find out who your father was?"

"And what happened to my mother. My f- grandfather wasn't sure if she'd died, or simply disappeared. I want to know. I think I need to, in order to be able to ascend to my- to take my father's- my grandfather's- position."

"You don't need to use all those flowery terms with me," Cecilia said. "Your Highness."

Bastien swore softly. "How did you know?" he asked. "Did Isaac tell you?"

Cecilia smiled wanly. "First, there aren't that many nobles named Bastien. There are fewer with a mother named Rochelle and sisters named Isabel, Maria, and Francesca. Even way out here, we know the names of royalty."

Bastien nodded, then realized she couldn't see him. "Yes. You're very smart, Cece."

She laughed at him, lightening the mood. "Since when do you call me Cece?"

* * *

The old tinker- he now had to be referred to as such, as a new, younger tinker, on discovery of the advanced age of the current local tinker, had moved into town after the Festival- opened the door a week after the Fall Festival to see Cecilia's stranger.

"Good morning," the boy said agreeably, hardly letting shock show on his face. "You must be Cece's father. Is she available?"

"Of course," the old tinker said, equally agreeable, but a bit miffed. As he called for Cece, he wondered when someone other than himself had begun calling her that. Cece was _his_ nickname.

* * *

He had grilled her over breakfast the morning after the Fall Festival. What had he talked to her about, had he been less than gentlemanly with her, what exactly had they done, did she like him, who was he, why was he here, where was he from? She had calmly answered all his questions. He had talked about dancing, he was nothing if not a gentleman, they had danced, of course she liked him, his name was Bastien, he was on some sort of quest, he was from the capital. Still, as fathers are wont to do, the old tinker fretted endlessly- not only over this young boy she had met, but over the terrible secret he must impart to her in only a week's time. He worried constantly. What if the boy hurt her? What if he asked her to marry him? What if she said yes? What if she left him? What if they stayed? Would she even still want to stay with him after discovering he wasn't her father? He was tormented by his doubts, and burned them away in his workshop, making music boxes and dolls, mechanical horses and chariots for them to pull. He pushed as many of his doubts away as he could, making them wait until tomorrow, tomorrow, tomorrow's tomorrow. Right now he wanted to enjoy Cece while he could.

* * *

Yeah, short, I know, and slightly disappointing...well, I think so, anyway. Real update next time (don't know when, but it'll be a good one!) So now click the little review button and review it! 


	7. Family Secrets

So here, at last, we have chapter seven. I apologize profusely for the delay, but between schoolwork and power outages, I haven't had the time or the ability. I love the weekend! And so here's your update, and we begin to see the original plot at last!

* * *

**Chapter 7: Family Secrets**

Cecilia woke up on the morning of her twentieth birthday to the smell of frying bacon. She smiled. Every year, on her birthday, her father woke up extra-early and made her bacon for breakfast. It was nothing more than a sign of how much he loved her.

This birthday, however, was special. Cecilia was finally twenty years old. That meant that she was able to move out of her father's house, marry, begin working for money. Not that she really planned to do any of those things right away. Her father was quite old and needed her care. Still, she was an official adult now, and she leapt out of bed and dashed down the stairs.

"Would you not tear around so?" the old tinker asked from over by the stove, where he was bent over a pan of crackling bacon.

She laughed at him. "Papa, after nearly twenty years in that bedroom, I'm sure I'll be fine!" And she ran outside to do her chores, even though it was her birthday. But as she milked the cow and gathered eggs, she heard her father's words in her head. At first she laughed them off, then she listened and heard the strange sadness in his tone, as though somehow her birthday had upset him. She wondered why.

_Perhaps he is thinking of Mother, and how she never got to see this day,_ she thought. _Yes, that must be it._

* * *

The tinker set Cece's bacon down in front of her. He watched her dig in instantly, knowing where it was without having to feel around excessively, and again he marveled at the lack of difficulty she had with her blindness. She ate ravenously and complimented him, and he smiled. Oh, he would miss this. 

"Cece," he said, when both were finished, "clean up and come to my workshop. There's something I need to show you."

Cece nodded and danced off, probably thinking he had made her some elaborate birthday present. Meanwhile, the old tinker went out to his workshop to do some dusting.

After five or ten minutes, he heard Cece's trademark light tap on his door. "Come in, Cece," he said heavily. He wondered if she was wondering, what she was thinking. Oh, if he knew! Oh, if he didn't have to tell her!

The door opened. "What's going on, Papa?" Cece asked him. She had picked up on his tone and was now worried.

"Cece," he began, then sighed deeply. "There's something I need to tell you. I'm not your father."

He watched her carefully, saw her confusion and then sudden understanding, watched her hands fly to her mouth in a silent gasp. "Papa, what are you- who, then? Mother?" she squeaked out.

"I don't know who your father was," he said. "When I met your mother, she was already several months pregnant with you. The place where she and your father worked experienced a terrible tragedy, and your father was lost."

"The castle," Cece whispered. Even she had heard tales of God's curse on the nearby nobleman, how he had been changed into a horrible monster. "Mother- and Father- they worked there."

"Yes. The curse caught your father while he was on the grounds, and he suffered the same fate as everyone else. Your mother, however, wasn't on the grounds at all- well, except for her hand."

"Her- hand? What happened, Papa? Tell me, please, what happened to my mother."

"She was entering the grounds, opening the gate. Her hand, therefore, was on the palace grounds. It was turned to glass."

"Glass eyes," Cece whispered, so quietly he wasn't even sure if he had heard her.

"She ran into the town like a crazed woman," he continued. "I took her in when she told me her husband was gone. She lived with me until you were born."

"She died giving birth to me?" she asked softly, falling back on the story she had believed since she was very young.

"The glass of her hand," the old tinker all but sighed out, "spread like poison up her arm." Cece's hands flew to her mouth again. "It was very slow, and she had months to come to terms with her eventual death.

"Shortly before you were born, the glass topped her shoulder and spread into her chest. She knew she had hours at most. I sent for the midwife, and she induced the birth. Throughout the entire process you were in danger. Had the glass reached her womb, you would have died too.

"You were born just in time, even, maybe, a bit too late. You were not immune to the glass curse. Your eyes- well, you know. Your mother was dying quickly at this point, but she wanted to hold you. We let her."

Tears would have welled in any normal person's eyes, but Cece was incapable. Still, the look of utter pain on her face was enough to cause her father to look away.

"She wanted to name you Eirian. In the moment after your birth, when I saw your eyes, I forgot completely. It was a shock. I had never seen such a thing. I remembered only months later when I went to clean her off and saw her face. 'I want you to name her Eirian,' she said. 'It means "beautiful". I want her to feel beautiful, even when she doesn't want to. I want her to remember me. And she will be beautiful, I just know it.' Had your mother known, then, who you would be, she would have died far happier than I think she did."

Cece let out a strangled sob. "Where is she?" she asked desperately. "Where are you keeping her?"

Frightened by the expression on her face, he wordlessly opened the door to the closet in his workshop. She lay there, on a shelf he had built specially for her, supported by pillows so she would not shatter.

"I think," he said, less to Cece than to himself, "I was in love with her."

Even colorless, even frozen, there was something beautiful about her. He saw the first hand as he had when she had dashed into town, as if it were the first time. It was frozen in a motion of release. The rest of that arm was poised in the motion of months, the different phases it had moved in. He saw her belly, still swollen with pregnancy, her torso still tense with the motions of labor. Her other arm looked as though it was cradling a most precious burden, her head turned down toward it. Her mouth frozen in the midst of speech, but her eyes confused and hurt, the eyebrows slightly raised. Most precious to him were the wisps of glass hair that hung in loose curls around her forehead. They were delicate, and he was always extremely careful cleaning them, for they were the easiest to break. The old feeling flamed in him, the feeling he finally recognized. Yes, he had loved her. In another world, in another time, perhaps. In this world, it was never to be.

Cece gently ran her hands over the glass woman, as carefully as he himself had countless times, feeling gently her facial features, and then feeling her own to feel their similarities. He already knew them. Cece had the same set of her mouth as her mother, the same nose, the same arched eyebrows, the same shape to her eyes, although their color he would never know. Even her hair was the same color, although Cece's was a little lighter than her mother's had been, with blond highlights- he assumed her father had been blond.

"Careful!" he hissed, almost reflexively, as she reached those delicate curls. Abruptly Cece stopped and looked up at him, as though he had startled her, as though she had forgotten he was there.

"Papa," she whispered, then turned her head away from him violently. "I can't. Not now. I need to leave."

It was just as he had feared. Cece was leaving him now, for good. He wouldn't see her again, or speak to her.

"I still love you, Cece," he said softly. "You're still my little girl."

"I have to go, Papa," she said again. "I'll be back later, but right now I need to be alone."

He watched, heartbroken, as she fled through the yard.

* * *

She fled. 

She fled her father who wasn't and the town that had lied to her all her life and high up into the hills around the town where she could be peaceful and alone. She was careless in her running and could sense people getting out of her way, and she ran into three people on her pell-mell sprint that, although she didn't know it, paralleled her mother's twenty years before.

First she wept. Of course, weeping for her was unlike most weeping, although her face did swell up and get red and her sobs came freely. But tears were an impossibility, and so none fell. But still she cried. She cried for her mother, deprived of life so early. She cried for her father, trapped under some sort of curse in a castle where she could not reach him. She cried for the man she had always thought of as her father, the lie he had had to live all his life. She cried for herself, discovering that she was not who she had always thought she was. She cried and cried until at last she managed to control herself and think things out rationally.

The first question, and the most important one, was why. Why had her father kept this story from her? Why had no one else told her? Why her? Why her mother? She thought it out and kept puzzling on it until the warmth of the sun no longer pressed her face and the cool of night began to fall. Then she went home to ask her father.

* * *

The old tinker was so relieved when Cece came home that very little else was on his mind. Her dress was dirty and grass-stained and her face red and swollen with tears still. He did not question her, but helped her gently into one of the chairs at the table and waited patiently for the questions he knew would come. 

"Why didn't you tell me?" she began after a moment, and with a sigh he answered the barrage.

"Your mother made me promise I wouldn't. She wanted a normal life for you, and the life you would have led otherwise would have been far from normal." "I didn't tell you about the glass because I thought it fell under my promise to your mother." "I never really knew her before that day. I had seen her before, but we hadn't spoken." "She lived with me for over three months." "I never did anything inappropriate- I didn't even realize I loved her until today." "I didn't want her to be buried because I thought there was a chance she could still be saved."

His last answer sparked the most questions out of her. "What do you mean, saved?" she asked seriously.

"The prince's curse can be broken," the old tinker said. And he recounted the story of his journey to the castle.

"A maiden can save him," Cece repeated slowly. "And everyone else, I suppose. My father almost for sure. Mother, maybe. And maybe I would even be able to see."

The tinker immediately saw her plan. "Cece, no," he said quickly. "I won't let you risk yourself."

"You don't have to let me, Papa," Cece told him, her voice cold with determination, her eyes fixed on the wall before her. "As of today, I'm an adult and I can do what I choose."

The tinker watched, helplessly, as his only child made a split-second decision to break the castle's curse.

* * *

And there you have it. Exciting, hopefully, and a lovely cliffhanger- I'm such a sadist! Hopefully you liked it, so tell me and leave me a review! 

Next chapter hopefully to come within a week, but don't quote me on it. Two AP courses, you know!

Mazzie


	8. Farewells

I am shocked beyond belief that I got the time to upload (and write, for that matter) this so soon. I suppose there's something to be said for dedication, huh?

Anyway, this chapter's a little short again but hopefully slightly more exciting than the last few have been. Real plot at last!

* * *

**Chapter 8: Farewells**

Bastien found Cecilia the next morning in her favorite spot- under the tall oak on the hill outside of town. She was sitting very still, and would have been staring off into the distance if she could stare. He sat beside her.

"I heard it was your birthday yesterday," he said as a way of beginning a conversation.

"Yes," she said quietly.

"Aren't you excited at all? You can marry now. You're old enough."

"I'm not really thinking much about marriage at the moment."

"What's going on?" he asked, realizing something must be wrong. "I didn't see you all day yesterday."

"I was here," she said. "Thinking."

"About what?"

"How did you feel," she asked, and it seemed as though she was changing the subject on him, as she was wont to do, "when you found out your father was really your grandfather?"

A bit startled, he replied, "It was a shock. I had to lock myself in my chambers for hours. Father- Grandfather- was very worried. He kept trying to get in, but I wouldn't let him. Then I decided I had to come here, to discover the truth."

"You had to," she said, and it was almost a question but also not a question.

"Yes. I had to know what happened before I was born."

"So you could do something about it."

"I suppose." For some reason he found himself growing angry with Cecilia for avoiding the question. "Cecilia, what's going on?"

"She wanted to name me Eirian," Cecilia said, and then, to his horror, she began sobbing. He wasn't quite sure how to react. He had never seen Cecilia cry. Awkwardly he drew her into an embrace and stroked her hair. It was quite soft. Her weight on his chest caused the box in his pocket to press uncomfortably into his chest, but he silently reminded himself that this was not the time. Yesterday would have been the time, but whatever had happened had pushed it away to some unknown date. Instead he murmured to her about how it was all right and she would be fine and finally, when she calmed down, coaxed the story out of her.

It was easy for him, once she had told her story, to nod understandingly and tell her she really would come to terms with it someday. He had been through her situation- it was eerily the same situation- and felt the connection of two outcasts strengthen. They had both been unalterably affected by the same event, and this tied them closer than anything else ever could, and subconsciously he felt his pocket.

"I'm leaving, Bastien," Cecilia said suddenly.

"What? Where are you going?" he asked, jerking his hand away and turning to look at her.

"I'm afraid I'll have to take your quest from you," she explained, laughing slightly, bitterly. "I want to know what happened at that castle that caused your mother to disappear, and my parents to be cursed. I will tell you, of course," she added quickly, answering the look of dismay she seemed sure was on his face. It was, but for an entirely different reason.

"Cece," he said, slipping into her nickname in his panic, "I've only been here a few weeks, and even I know there's some sort of monster living there. You can't go there! You can't see, and you wouldn't be able to protect yourself-" Too late he realized what he had said. "Cece, I'm sorry, I didn't mean it-"

"No, I understand," she said. "You're worried. Only because I can't see. That's all anyone ever worries about me for anyway. I should have expected it from you." She got up and moved as to leave.

"No, Cece, don't go, please! I'll go, I'll go with you, please just don't go alone!"

"Papa," she called over her shoulder, "heard from the monster himself that only a maiden could save him. I don't know what it means. But I know I am a maiden, and therefore I have a chance. You, on the other hand, don't."

"Cece," he called desperately to her retreating figure. "Cece, don't leave! I have a-" he gave up and finished his sentence in a low voice- "present for you."

He sat on the hill for a while, watching the clouds billow gently past and the trees blow in the wind. Then he left, back to the inn.

* * *

She said goodbye to her father last.

He had told her where, roughly, the castle was, drawing on his remembrance of his own journey there many years ago, and had even offered to travel with her, but she had refused. This was her quest, and she had to make it alone.

"You're sure you'll be there by nightfall?" the old tinker asked nervously.

"It's midafternoon, Papa. Even if I do get lost I'll likely find my way by then," she said, feigning a boldness she did not feel. She was not confident at all that she would find the castle.

"Be careful," he whispered, drawing her into a close hug. "Don't get hurt, and come home if it seems you can't succeed."

"Of course, Papa," Cecilia promised him, even though both knew she wouldn't. She was determined to complete this quest.

"Are you sure-"

"Yes, Papa. I want you to stay here. I'll be close by- I'm sure I can visit at anytime. Don't worry about me, okay?"

He smiled at her, although she didn't see it.

"Goodbye, Papa," she murmured, pulling out of their embrace for the last time. Then she grabbed the small sack of belongings she was taking with her and left the old tinker standing alone on his doorstep. He was alone, truly alone, for the first time in over twenty years.

* * *

The castle was surprisingly easy for Cecilia to find.

She took the same path she had always taken in her dreams, when she could see. It was a dark, little-used path that she had never before cared to explore, fearing that her dreams might indeed be real, that their castle might actually exist, that she had, in truth, some strange other life she didn't know about. She laughed to think of it now. How little she had known!

Several times she stumbled over roots or rocks. The path she knew so well was harder to traverse blindly. There were also bushes and branches she had not anticipated that scratched and struck her, tearing her dress. Still she persisted, even when mosquitoes were biting her mercilessly and she felt she could hardly stand to continue.

She sensed its presence around early evening, by her internal clock. She couldn't see it, didn't feel the cool of its shadow, and hardly ran into it, but she somehow knew it was there. Suddenly her stumbling steps became sure. She knew how many steps it was to the grand entrance that would surely be locked and bolted, and how far to go to the smaller iron gate of the servants entrance, which someone- she knew now it was her mother- had left unlocked. Her steps led her there unerringly, and she reached out to the gate-

-and jumped back, startled, in an almost exact parallel to her mother's movements so long ago. As she had touched the gate, something had flashed across her vision- vision she couldn't even have. She stood back, breathing hard from adrenaline rush. She pondered what she had seen- an overgrown garden through a rusty gate, a crumbling, ill-cared-for castle in the background. Such a minute glimpse, but so vivid. Was it always so with first sight?

Although she didn't understand this sudden gift, she touched the gate again, this time cautiously. The vision flashed again, but this time she was prepared and held it, looked around. She even turned around to look at the forest through which she had come. Yes, she could see. Somehow, the castle enabled her to see.

Elated with her sudden discovery, she flung the gate open and dashed carelessly up the overgrown lawn. Weeds tore at her ankles and leaves tangled in her hair, but she didn't care. For the first time in her life, she could see! Never before had sight been anything more than a dream to her and here she was, intaking everything as though for the first time- and it was the first time! She laughed and danced, not caring what sort of spectacle she was. From what her father had told her, she reasoned, no one lived her except an old beast.

The beast! Suddenly she remembered her quest and abruptly ended her capering. She looked back toward the castle, looming high and ivy-covered not far from where she was. She knew that however long the distance really was, it would feel much longer for her apprehension, and so she began it slowly, determinedly. She was ready to meet whatever the castle could throw at her.

After what seemed like forever, although now she could see that the shadows had hardly lengthened at all, she reached the door. The front door- she planned to enter as an equal to whatever noble had once lived here. He was on her terms, not she on his. She was the one saving _him_, after all.

She reached out, opened the door, and entered.

* * *

Nice little cliffhanger there, eh? Yes, I'm cruel, but it's also late at night and I need sleep so I'm ending it there. Hopefully you guys enjoyed it, but let me know! Review, review, review!

Hopefully a chapter this weekend, but I do have an English paper to write and my brother and sister's birthday (yes, they are twins, since people insist on asking), so don't quote me on it.

Anyway, hopefully the story is getting better.

!--Mazzie--!


	9. The Beast

Woohoo! Another update at last!

Sorry for not updating sooner, but I've had a lot of homework and I was downtown last weekend. (one computer in my brother's room. Waaaaay to awkward to write.) The point is, I'm updating now, and that's what matters.

In this chapter, we get a glimpse of what the Beast has been up to all this time...ooooooo

* * *

**Chapter 9: The Beast**

He paced the castle. It was something he did habitually. Down the dusty halls, past the mildewed tapestries, hearing ever the whispers all around him that faded as he drew near. Sometimes he went out through the overgrown garden, but he had a tendency to pick up burrs and they were difficult to get out.

The dust was heavy everywhere, except where he had worn a trail in his usual path. Almost an inch thick. Always he had taken servants for granted, but now he wished they would clean this cursed mess. Or he had wished, when he had cared.

He attributed his growing disregard for his environment and appearance to his slow transformation into the monster whose face he wore. As time passed, he assumed, he lost more and more of his humanity, so that after twenty-five years, it wouldn't be a sudden transition, just another stage in the gradual loss of his previous life.

* * *

"_The last time I saw you," he laughed at her as they sat by the fireplace, "you were knocking down everything in your path. Your hair was ridiculously long, and your nose was always dripping."_

_She blushed- she was so pretty when she blushed- and laughed with him. "Somehow, those lessons in grace and poise stuck, because I haven't knocked anything over in nearly two years. And my hair became absolutely unmanageable and Father forced me to cut it. And I suppose that permanent cold cleared up when the plague hit, because I haven't been sick since-" _

_She stopped abruptly, sadness sweeping over her features. She was beautiful when she mourned, too. "I suppose," she said, her voice high and choked, "that cold helped keep me from getting sick."_

_Then he held her while she wept._

_

* * *

_For the first year he'd raged. Always angry, storming around the castle. He smashed every mirror he could find, every mirror except Imogene's hand mirror, which she guarded as if it were her most precious possession. To date it was the only mirror in his castle. 

In the next several years, he'd been able to wait patiently. Eventually someone had to come, traveling the road, someone who had heard the legend and wanted to test it, some beautiful young friend of his from court, determined to rescue him- but none came. None of his friends were maidens anyway, which he regretted in hindsight.

Then he'd begun bargaining. He would take anyone, anyone at all. A deformed girl, an old spinster. A pauper. A fairy. The most hideous girl could have come and he would have welcomed her warmly. He hoped desperately, watching from the castle wall he considered the site of his doom. Here, he had seen her. Here, he had fallen in love. Here had it all begun.

But none came. As the fifteenth year came and went, he began to give up hope. He stopped watching from the wall. He stopped looking out the dust-grimed windows. He took to prowling about the castle, slashing any furniture he came across, regardless of whether or not it was, in fact, furniture. He took a perverse joy from the screams some of the chairs gave as their upholstery was destroyed and their stuffing torn out. Destruction was a whim that came now and again, a whim he happily indulged.

Every so often a voice echoed in his dreams. _Only five years more,_ it would say, and he would wake up with adrenaline coursing through his body. He didn't know why the voice inspired such fear in him, besides the fear of being trapped forever like this. But a terror somehow haunted his sleep, a terror he did not understand or even know the origin of. He took to sleeping less and less, in frequent short intervals instead of one long sleep. Another sign, he realized, of his growing bestiality.

Still, frightening as the voice was, it helped him keep track of time as it passed. He knew, now, that he had been cursed for twenty years now. His animal body was growing old. His limbs creaked when he moved and his muzzle was streaked with gray. Sometimes, in the winter, he was unable to get up. He felt his muscles growing slacker, although he was still thin from a shortage of food. He fed only rarely, when he was so hungry his body compelled him to go out into the garden, or sometimes even into the forest, to hunt. His reflexes in that area were slower too, he had noticed of late. He was catching less and less food. Still, he was able to get by.

* * *

"_What prompted the picnic?" Imogene asked, her eyes glittering. _

"_It's a lovely day," he replied. Imogene raised her eyebrows and glanced around. It was overcast, windy, and quite chilly. Plus, the grass was wet and she could feel dampness soaking her gown. _

"_Well," he corrected, "I thought it would be a lovely day. And I planned this a week ago, when the weather was quite nice, if you'll recall."_

_She laughed at him. Her laugh was as sweet as a birds song, as lovely as a cascade of bells. And the way she shook her head when she laughed made her hair shimmer like cloth-of-gold, the gentle curls bouncing and tangling._

_They were only midway through their lunch when the clouds burst and it began pouring rain. Shrieking and laughing, Imogene gathered the picnic and stuffed it back into its basket while he crumpled up the blanket and held out his hand to lead her inside. They ran all the way back to the castle and then stood outside, under the eaves, laughing hysterically until the rain stopped. By the time they got inside, they were freezing cold and soaked to the bone, and spent the rest of the afternoon picnicking before the library fire._

_

* * *

_He was not, in the end, the one who saw her first. 

He was pacing his bedchamber- or den, as it were. Long ago he had given up sleeping in the bed, which creaked ominously every time his bulky form crawled into it. So he had dragged the blankets into a shadowy corner on the far wall and made his bed there. Surprisingly, it was more comfortable to his new form than his bed had been- he felt more comfortable closer to the floor.

An armchair sat in an awkward position- not by the fire, but facing toward the window. Shortly after his curse, he had entered his bedroom to find it sitting directly beside his bed. It had spoken to him, and he realized it was the housekeeper, who had been changing his sheets when the curse was cast. She had spoken mournfully of the curse to him, and he had upbraided her so loudly Imogene had emerged from her chamber to see what the matter was. Upon realizing what the commotion was about, she had gone straight back to her room, first letting out a deep, long sigh.

Somehow, he and the chair had gotten past their difference, probably because of their shared predicament. Somehow she became his confidante and mentor. She helped him help Imogene through her depression. She helped him deal with his depression. She forced him to talk when otherwise he would have been silent for years.

"You know," she had said once, not realizing he was listening, "my husband's down in the village, all alone. He's growing old, raising our children and grandchildren, and I'm stuck here. I hope he's all right without me."

"I didn't know you were married," he growled.

"Apparently," she said, "there's a lot you didn't know."

She left unsaid that she blamed him, but he felt it all the same. "I didn't know," he said defensively, "that this would happen."

"What did you think would happen? Nothing at all? That you would get away with it as you had before?"

Angrily, he dug his claws into the carpet. "I wasn't thinking," he said.

The armchair hadn't responded.

On another occasion- and this was why the armchair was where she was- she had asked, out of the blue, "Would you mind moving me?"

Startled, he had simply asked, "What?"

"I wouldn't mind," she said, "feeling the sun on me again."

Sighing, he pushed her over by the window, into the large square of sunlight. "You'll fade," he told her.

"I don't mind," she replied.

* * *

So as he paced, brooding over his predicament, he did not notice the small figure in the garden. The armchair did. 

"Oh Master," she cried suddenly, causing him to halt in his pacing, "look!"

He had dashed to the window. Never before had the armchair so summoned him, so he knew it must be important. And surely enough, a young girl was dancing and laughing in his garden, twirling in the weeds that came up past her waist. She acted as though no one could see her and, he reflected, probably thought no one could.

He watched her for a while, her loose brown hair tangling and streaming out behind her, her faint laughter reaching his distant ears, her eyes that he couldn't quite make out. For all his begging of years ago, she was not ugly, bucktoothed, humpbacked, old, or pockmarked. No, she was quite pretty- not the type he would have gone for in the old days, but lovely by any standards, at least for a distance. Besides, he couldn't afford to be picky. She was the first, and probably the last, maiden to visit his castle.

Abruptly she stopped dancing. Her face grew serious, and she turned back to the castle. As if she sensed his presence, her eyes sought out his window, and he could have sworn they locked gazes. She took a steadying breath and began to walk toward the front door, out of his sight. He rushed for the door, but the armchair stopped him.

"You mustn't look as though you've been waiting for her, or as if you know she's here. Let her chance upon you, or appear to chance upon her," she said.

"I'll frighten her," he replied.

"You'll frighten her more if she thinks you've been watching her. Wait. Hold back. Make it an accident."

Sighing, he went and lay sulking in his bed.

* * *

So. Another chapter has come and gone and you guys are still reading. That's an accomplishment for me, at least. 

Now I'm going to rant about how awesome you guys are. In the last chapter we got over 200 hits to make almost 850 in total, and we've made it to twenty reviews. That's amazing, and you have no idea how much that makes my day. So here's a big thanks to the readers, who really keep me going and boost my spirits after bad days (I'm telling you, coming home from a crappy day to another review is absolutely uplifting!). So keep it up by reviewing this chapter too!

!--Mazzie--!


	10. The Encounter

Yay I have a new update for you! Here we have what several people have been waiting for: the meeting between Cecilia and the beast. So. Be afraid. Be very afraid. But also be excited. And read it. Now. Seriously, why are you still reading my silly little note? You know you want to get to the story. Do it, then. NOW!**

* * *

Chapter 10: The Encounter**

Cecilia looked around. This was the same hall she had seen in her dreams, but much older, more decrepit. The floor was covered in dust, and her bare feet sank in disgustingly. The tapestries on the wall were rotted and moth-eaten, and the paintings were mildewed beyond recognition. The shining walls and banisters that seemed so recent to her were long gone, lost in the decay of the grimy halls.

Echoing louder all around her were whispering voices, voices her father had told her about, but which she only now believed. Here they were dim and faint, but she knew they would get louder as she moved through the halls. Although she was eager to explore, she felt she had to stay where she was, let him find her. She was equal to any noble, she reminded herself. She would not lose herself in the castle like some ignorant peasant. But neither would she stand awkwardly around.

Although neither choice appealed to her, she chose to wait for him. So she leaned against a pillar and waited, humming softly.

He came so suddenly she had a hard time believing he had not been there all along. It seemed one instant the stairwell was empty and the next his large, hulking shape filled it. Oh, he was horrible to look at! He walked half-upright like a dancing bear, but it was evident he could lope along quite well on all fours. He had a head almost like a lion's, but also like a wolf's. His fur was, as far as she could see in the dim light, some dark shade speckled with gray. He was a great deal taller than she was, and behind him swished a plumed tail like that of a retriever.

She couldn't help gasping. At her voice he began to move forward again, and as he approached she began to notice more about him- the way his long, sharp claws clicked against the flagstones, his long, yellowed teeth. She fought the urge to run desperately and maintained control.

"What?" he asked. For so horrid a beast, his voice, a low growl, was almost musical. "Am I so terrible?"

Somehow she found the voice to say, "I couldn't tell you. I haven't been able to see until this last hour."

"But I frighten you?" he asked, a mournful tone coming into his voice.

"A bit," she confessed, trying to still her trembling.

"It cannot be helped. I will tell you, however, in the vain hope that you'll believe it, that I will not hurt you."

_He better not,_ she thought. _I'm here to save him. I'm his only chance._ With this reasoning, it was easy for her to keep her head.

"What is your name, anyway?" he asked.

_Cecilia Tinker_, the name was poised on her tongue, but what came out instead was, "I am the Lady Eirian, and I am here to break your spell."

He seemed almost as surprised as she by her outburst, but his face hardly changed. Probably it couldn't.

"Well, then," he said, "we shall have to accommodate you here."

She glanced around. "Where?" she asked, the snooty tone still in her voice. "This castle hardly seems suitably clean for me to live here."

"I'm afraid," he said coldly in reply, "that due to the nature of my curse, I have no servants. You will have to make due."

She let out an overly noble "Harumph!" before allowing him to lead her to a fine guest bedroom on the second floor.

* * *

It was as dusty and dank as the rest of the castle. He left her alone to unpack the small pack she had brought with her and make herself comfortable. As soon as the door shut behind her, she let loose a shrieking sigh of frustration. 

The room itself wasn't bad. In the center, up against the wall, was a large four-poster bed framed by heavy velvet curtains, dull with dust, but once, she could tell, a brilliant burgundy. The bed was covered by a comforter of burgundy and gold, thick with feathers. There was a plethora of pillows- at least five, not counting shams. Could she have sold the bed, she and her father could have eaten well for probably the rest of their lives, it was so rich.

At the foot of the bed was a wooden chest. She opened it, lifted out the spiders and mice that had nested inside, and placed her sack inside. Beneath her feet was a thick Oriental carpet, with a pattern of red roses around the outside and birds and vines on a sable background in the middle. Her feet sunk into it pleasantly, but large clouds of dust rose whenever she took a step. She would have to clean this room soon.

Directly across from the bed was a large fireplace, with a small pile of logs next to it and a poker leaning against the wall beside it. From the sheer amount of dust on the logs, she could tell the fireplace hadn't been used at least since the castle was cursed and probably longer. Still, it looked as though it could easily heat the entire room in the dead of winter, which would come all too soon- but surely she wouldn't be here that long.

On the wall adjacent to the fireplace was a large window. It was grimy enough that she couldn't see out, and the thick velvet curtains were all but closed, but it would let in a good deal of light once she cleaned the windows. _Listen to me_, she thought. _Barely here an hour and already planning how to clean the place up for a lifelong stay._

_Still,_ she thought, as she toured the adjoining spider-ridden bathroom, _I shall have to make it habitable, no matter how long I plan on staying._

* * *

He had returned to his lair and was conversing with the armchair when the Lady Eirian entered. 

"Oh," she said, surprised, but it was obvious she had been looking for him. "I'm terribly sorry to interrupt"- the look on her face was quite confused as she glanced from him to the armchair- "but I wanted to know where cleaning materials are, so that I can begin to clean my room." There was, again, that obvious tone of disdain.

Grunting, he muttered an order for her to follow him, and he led her to a storage closet he had discovered years ago, with a heavy bucket, a mop, and lye soap, along with various other cleaning supplies. He knew, of course, that there was another closet just around the corner from his room, but his inner perversity- that which had gotten him into this mess- took her to the one a floor below and three halls away from her room. He chuckled to himself as he led her, but because of the nature of his throat it sounded much like a wheeze of exhaustion, for which he was sure she mistook it. All the better for him, anyway.

He wondered if she realized how far astray he had led her, but when he glanced at her face she looked merely dismayed that she would have to lug so much so far. However, the look soon passed and was replaced with a cool mask of gratitude.

"Thank you," she said politely, but seemed to stumble over what to say next. He had given her no name.

"I don't," he said, taking pity on her discomfort, "really have a name. I don't remember mine anymore, and few others mention it if they do remember it. You may call me Beast, if you must give me a name."

Her eyes widened and her eyebrows lifted as she inhaled in shock at the detrimental name he had given himself. Still, she maintained her composure- although, he noted, she struggled- and said coolly, "Very well. Thank you, Beast."

"You're welcome," he said gruffly, and then turned as to leave. He remained just around the corner, however, and watched as she placed a bar of soap, several rags, and the mop in the bucket, tucked the broom under her arm, and staggered away in the opposite direction.

* * *

She rose, sweating, from her labor as the sun sank below the castle walls. Despite several hours' hard work, she had barely cleaned the bathroom, first taking the spiders and placing them outside the leaded glass window, then dusting away the webs and volumes of dust, then sneezing profusely, then scrubbing the porcelain of the bathtub and washbasin. She had swept, mopped, and scrubbed the floors, and wiped the mirror clean. The carved frame, she noticed, would take far more delicate dusting work than she currently had patience for, and so she let it be. She had been about to move into the bedroom when the first hunger pangs struck her and she realized she hadn't eaten since a small loaf of bread with some cheese that morning. And so she had given up for the day, transporting the cleaning supplies down the halls and stairs to the closet the Beast had shown her, thinking furiously every time the bucket painfully bumped her knees, _Surely there is another closet closer to my bedroom!_

The Beast. She had begun to think of him simply as that, not as some cursed prince, or her parents' former employer, or even the cause of her mother's death. He had told her to call him that, and she had been amazed that he had. One so arrogant as this prince was purported to be could surely never give himself a detrimental name like Beast voluntarily. He had to truly think so little of himself, and Cecilia felt pity for him for that. No man deserved to hate himself that much.

She wandered the castle halls aimlessly and eventually ended up in the kitchen. The whispers that had followed her- there were none in her room, she noticed suddenly- were loud here, and she could tell by the unusual placement of several utensils which were the source of the whispering.

"Is there," she began, then stopped, realizing the absurdity of it all. She tried again. "Is there any food here?"

A pot on the floor at her feet said, quite clearly, "I do not think so, but ask the Master."

She _would_ have to seek him out, then. Groaning softly, she thanked the pot and walked to the Beast's room, where she found him once again, this time sleeping in a darkened corner on the far side of his room.

"Excuse me," she tried to say, but it came out a near-silent whisper. "Beast?"

He grunted and rolled over. She wondered what he was dreaming about.

Cautiously she crossed the room. As she stood helplessly beside him, unsure as to whether or not she should wake him, she heard a voice behind her call softly, "Master."

The Beast groaned and opened his eyes. He started at Cecilia's presence, but regained his composure quickly.

"What do you need, my lady?" he asked courteously, but she noted a tone of sarcasm in his voice. It was a small thing, but it was enough to throw her.

"I was wondering," she said, struggling to maintain her previous imperiousness, "if you were going to serve me food at any time today."

He growled. "I wasn't prepared for your arrival, _my lady_, and therefore we have no suitable food for you. Hopefully you have brought something?"

Cecilia scowled back at him. "Very well," she said coolly. "Thank you, Beast."

* * *

In her room she found a slightly stale roll and a block of cheese that she had packed in case her journey took her longer than expected. She ate it slowly, planning on saving some in case she was in this same situation tomorrow. Then she pulled back the dusty covers and crawled into the bed, where she fumed until finally she fell asleep.

* * *

Aww aren't they cute? (Well I think they are...)

Now I'm going to rant about you guys again- almost up to 1000 hits! Plus over 30 reviews...Come on, don't tell me you aren't excited. It's awesome, and it's all you, not me. (Well, okay, maaaaaybe...jkjk)

So let's add more reviews (How about we shoot for 40 total? That's only 8 on this chapter). Now click the small review button and review. Do it now. No, now! Why is this so hard for you? Why can't you just ignore me? Sheesh...

!--Mazzie--!

(FYI I'm seriously joking, in case you can't pick that up. I'm not mad at you at all. So don't hurt me, please!)


	11. Settling In

Hey everybody!

I apologize profusely for my lack of updating, but school's been a nightmare! Luckily first quarter ended, so I'm pretty much off the hook from extremely heavy workloads until Christmas/exams (for those of you who are offended by my use of the word "Christmas").

Here, at last, is chapter 11. Read it, love it, and review when you're done. If you forget, I'll remind you again at the end. XD

**

* * *

**

**Chapter 11: Settling In**

Cecilia began her work immediately the next morning. She first went to the kitchens and began to clean there. It was gruesome work. Rotten food, that which hadn't been eaten by rats or decayed beyond recognition, was everywhere, but the pantry was worst. There was a strong reek of rotten milk and cheese, and in the end it took her almost two hours just to clean out the volume of food in there.

The Beast entered around noon.

"What are you doing?" he asked, sounding genuinely interested.

"I'm cleaning so we can have suitable living conditions," she replied tartly, concentrating on the flagstone she was scouring.

"They've suited me fine for twenty years," he said. She glanced up at his almost defensive tone. _Did he like his filth?_

"Unfortunately," she snapped, unreasonably angry, "I'm unused to this squalor. I prefer more human conditions."

His wince made her realize how much that comment hurt him. Even after all these years, his lack of humanity burned like a fresh wound. She softened towards him immediately, standing and going to his side.

"I'm so sorry," she murmured, tentatively and awkwardly placing her hand on his back. "I didn't mean-"

"No." He cut her off, pulling away sharply. "It's all right. I'm glad you're cleaning this place up. It needs it."

He turned and left, his sweeping tail brushing dust over the newly-cleaned floor. She stared after him for a while, unmoving, until she could no longer even pretend to hear his retreating footsteps.

* * *

"I don't," he fumed, "understand her."

"She's a woman," the armchair said matter-of-factly. "You never really understood them, begging your pardon, sir."

"But she cleans. She's hardly noble at all. And she didn't mention her heritage at all when she arrived."

"Maybe she's foreign. Or maybe she doesn't want you to know who her parents are."

"She's not at all- repulsed. She acts almost as if I'm a normal sight, as though she's never seen anything normal before."

"Perhaps she hasn't."

That caught the Beast's attention. "How is that even possible?" he asked the armchair incredulously.

"I've heard whispers that she is one of us. Look more closely at her. You're good at that, begging your pardon, sir."

"Perhaps I will," the Beast replied, settling in his corner to brood. The armchair faintly heard him murmur, "Lady Eirian," before he drifted off to sleep.

* * *

"We need food," Cecilia informed the Beast a few days later.

He sighed. "I have food," he replied sharply. What was with this girl?

"I need food," she corrected herself, raising her eyebrows and giving him a baleful glare. Or it would have been.

"You'll have to go into town, then," he told her.

"You don't have any food here? None at all?"

"You want a rabbit?" he asked sarcastically, expecting a negative answer.

Her brow wrinkled. "If it's the best you have," she said in a resigned tone. "Try not to bite it too much."

He growled at her. Why did she have to be so difficult?

"I'm hungry," she said in an exasperating, singsong tone. He hoisted himself to his feet and trotted out of the castle, grumbling deeply.

Cece watched him go. She wondered if perhaps she was playing up her act too much. He obviously still believed it, or he was just chivalrous. But from what she'd heard, the latter wasn't true at all. Maybe he was just desperate enough?

The past few days had been a flurry of work. After spending two days in the kitchen, she'd begun in the hallways, mostly just the few between her room, the Beast's, and the kitchen. She had almost sneezed her eyeballs out- a valid danger, in her case- but at least the castle looked like someone lived there.

She spent little time with the Beast. He spent his days traipsing about the grounds, while hers were spent cleaning. Her evenings were usually spent asleep, exhausted after a day's work, and he was ever cloistered in his chamber. Still, it didn't bother her much. He didn't have a particularly good attitude. She knew he was despairing his soon-to-be permanent situation, but his attitude was improper if he ever planned on having his curse broken. He wasn't really trying.

_But then, _she mused, _neither am I. What effort do I make to fall in love with him, or make him fall in love with me?_

Another part of her protested: _You cannot force love, Cecelia._

She shook her head vehemently and went back to work, allowing her thoughts to wander to Bastien and what he was doing back in the village. Had he returned to his grandfather yet? Or was he still moping about that inn, waiting for her? With such thoughts occupying her mind, she kept herself busy until the dark of evening fell.

* * *

Since the armchair's observations of the Lady Eirian, the Beast had begun watching her more closely. Although his animal eyes were not as keen as his human ones had been, he noticed small things. Her eyes were quite unusual, based on his memories of human eyes. They were all of one color, and reflected light strangely, as if they were not eyes of flesh, but eyes of crystal.

As he recalled, noble women did not spend their time scrubbing floors or beating rugs. He found her constant cleaning most unusual, not to mention annoying. The flying dust had a tendency to get into his nose and make him sneeze, an action he did not particularly like, as it somewhat upset the terrifying persona he tried to present others with. He hoped her fanatical cleaning would end soon, but the castle was a large place, and the cleaning could well take months.

Not to mention the dust accumulated in the clean places while the dirty places were being cleaned.

The very thought made him groan.

Even when he'd first moved into the castle, he hadn't had to deal with such mess. Servants had been installed for whenever the royal family came to visit, and they kept the castle tidy. Sure, a few unused rooms had had to be aired and dusted, but nothing on this grand a scale. And afterwards, servants had kept the house immaculately clean on their own, a service he had taken for granted.

"What are you groaning about, master?" the armchair called softly.

"This infernal cleaning. Will it never end?" He hadn't wanted to reply- some part of him had spoken against his will.

"It would go faster if you helped, begging your pardon, sir," the armchair said in its usual manner.

He shot it a dubious glance. "How, pray tell," he asked sarcastically, "can _I _help?"

"You could sweep," it replied, "with your tail."

He resisted the urge to either tear the armchair to shreds or bang his head repeatedly on the wall. "That's hardly practical," he said between clenched teeth.

"Nonsense," the armchair said briskly. "I've seen dogs do it. By accident, of course. But they still managed to sweep the floor clean."

He shuddered involuntarily. He _hated_ manual labor. Not that he'd ever really done much himself, but watching others do it made him feel thirsty, sweaty, and tired. Granted, this would be easy enough, but it would look so ridiculous.

"Sir," the armchair chided gently, "you want this woman to love you, yes?"

"She has to. She's my last hope."

"Perhaps you should take steps toward making her like you."

With this snippet of advice, the armchair fell silent, and the Beast frowned. He paced his room for over an hour, his claws clicking on the stone floor. He tried to push the armchair's words out of his mind, tried to get rid of its vague implication that he wasn't trying hard enough to win Eirian. At last he lay down, but he had trouble getting to sleep, and passed a restless night.

* * *

_Imogene refused to see him one night. _

_It was mid-autumn, and outside the rain was pouring down, and high winds were lashing it at the castle windows. He pounded at her door, demanding her, begging her, to let him in. He didn't understand. Only a few days before they had picnicked outdoors, and she had been so happy then. Nothing in her actions lately had tipped him off to a rejection like this._

_At last Imogene opened the door. Her eyes were red-rimmed, her face swollen and blotchy. She ran a hand absentmindedly through her mussed hair as though trying to improve her appearance for him. But even though she looked like some of the mad beggars he'd seen in the villages, he smiled. He loved her so much._

_She glowered at his smile, and he dropped it into a look of concern. "What's wrong, dearest?" he asked her._

_She didn't respond, but tears rose in her eyes. He thought it might be something about her family- did she still miss them this acutely?_

"_Do you want to talk about it?" he asked, gently pushing her door to let himself in._

_She nodded silently and opened the door, lowering her eyes to watch his booted feet. The room was dark and cold- no fire burned in the grate. A single candle cast deep shadows on the walls, making the chamber mysterious, like something out of a childhood tale of witches. He helped her over into an armchair by the empty grate, which he lit himself. Once he got the fire roaring, he knelt on the floor beside her, taking her hand in both of his._

"_Now tell me," he said softly, "what's wrong. Is it your family? Do you miss them?"_

_She shook her head. "It's not them," she almost whispered. "It's just- only that- I'm pregnant."_

_The color rose in her face as it drained out of him. Still, he buried his dread deep inside for later, keeping his concern topmost of his emotions. "Shh," he said softly as she began weeping. "Shh. We'll work this out. Don't you worry."_

* * *

The memory of Imogene, of her despair that was almost constant from the moment she discovered her pregnancy, goaded the Beast into action. No, he didn't like physical labor. But he liked less this curse laid upon him. The Lady Eirian was his only hope, and he had to try to get her to tolerate him, like him even, before he could even think of love. And as the armchair had said, the best way to get her to like him would be to help her out.

He walked to the entrance hall, where he knew she was working today. Although it was barely dawn, she was on the floor, her skirt hiked up to her knees and her sleeves rolled up, up to her elbows in suds. He cleared his throat gently to get her attention, but when she did not hear, he coughed more obviously.

She jerked upright and wheeled to face him. "Oh," she said. "What do you need?"

"I was just wondering-" the words stuck in the back of his throat, so he cleared it again and tried anew. "I was wondering if you wanted any help?"

For the first time since she had entered the castle, a smile lit her face. "Sure," she said affably. "You can, um…" She trailed off and looked around, as if lost.

"I can sweep," he said.

She studied him closely. "Yes," she said carefully, slowly. "You can sweep."

He took a corner of the room that she hadn't gotten to yet and busily swept back and forth with his tail. It was embarrassing and degrading, and at first Eirian laughed at him, but after the first shock wore off he was able to laugh at himself, and he found himself smiling as he went to bed that night, not only at the memory of how ridiculous he must have looked, but at the pleasant way the day had been spent, how Eirian hadn't become irritated even once.

It wasn't much, but it was a start.

* * *

Kind of longish. I think the longest chapter yet. Hopefully you liked it and it will get a little less slow soon! (I think it's slow, anyway).

Now comes my favorite part- reviewing! Click the little button now and give me your love!

!--Mazzie--!


	12. The Garden

I changed the chapter title because of confusion and because it made me feel weird. So anyway. Imogene has to wait another chapter. But that's okay because that was more to my original plan. So suspense to all of you MWAHAHA

Either way, here's chapter 12.

* * *

**Chapter 12: The Garden**

The nights lengthened and the days chilled as autumn progressed. To the Beast's gratification, Eirian finished her intensive cleaning of the lived-in portions of the castle, although he was dismayed to find that she would still have to clean on occasion, to maintain the castle's sparkle.

He and Eirian had started up a tentative friendship. On the armchair's advice, he had begun making an effort to spend time with her. He helped out by catching her dinner for her and often ate with her- or rather, sat and watched as she ate. He spoke to her, trying to find out more about her. He still didn't understand her eyes, or how she'd come by them. But Eirian was a closed book on her past, answering vaguely or not at all. She refused to tell him who her parents were, or where she lived, or her rank. So, out of spite or reluctance to answer her queries, he refused to say anything about how he had come to be cursed or who he had been.

After a solid moratorium on talk of their pasts was established, they had little else to talk about. At first they talked about cleaning and what their next task was, but once that had been completed their conversation petered out. The Beast resumed his customary long walks outdoors, and Eirian did too, but in a different part of the grounds. Occasionally he sought her out and walked with her, and she would comment on the weather, and he would agree or disagree. Then they would proceed in silence, until one, usually Eirian, said she was cold and went back indoors.

_At least, though_, the Beast thought to himself, _we're cordial to each other._

* * *

Cece walked the grounds alone. The Beast had decided, to her pleasure, not to impose his presence upon her today. It wasn't that she didn't like him, but the awkwardness of spending time in his presence, trying to think of ways to fill the silence between them, made her uncomfortable. Today she was totally on her own. 

As she walked, her mind wandered, back to her home, back to Bastien and her father. What were they doing? Was her father still tinkering in his workshop, which at this time of year would be quite cold for him? Was he overworking himself? Did he miss her? Was she the only thing on his thoughts? Was he living well without her?

And Bastien. What was he doing? Did he ever think of her anymore?

She came to abruptly to find herself in an unfamiliar portion of the gardens. She felt as though she had seen this before, but the recognition only nudged the back of her mind and refused to come forward. Curious, she moved forward.

There was a whispering in this garden that she rarely encountered outdoors. It wasn't quite the cacophony of voices of the castle; more like the near-silence of the Beast's room. Although it piqued her curiosity, she ignored it, investigating instead the rosebushes choked with ivy and weeds along the wall. They were so wild they almost covered the path; she was surprised she had made it this far without being scratched. More carefully, she proceeded along the path, pushing thorny brambles out of her way.

"_Please stop!"_ the whispering said, becoming almost a shout. Without being too close, she could hear clearly, something she hadn't been able to do with other transformed objects. She glanced around wildly, looking for its source. At first she could see nothing, then the sunlight glinted off a patch of near-rusted metal, and she went to it immediately.

Pulling it out of the entangling bushes, she realized it was a hoe. Its wood had rotted badly, but it was still intact, and her gently tugging hands didn't seem in danger of damaging it further.

"Oh," the hoe said, sounding disappointed. "You're not her."

"Who?" Cecelia asked, confused.

"My wife," the hoe replied. "I haven't seen her since the curse, nor heard anything about her. You look a lot like her, though, and I can tell you're one of us."

"One of you?"

"Some part of you isn't flesh and blood. You've been touched by our curse. We can all tell instantly."

Something he'd said before suddenly occurred to her. "Your wife?" she asked.

"Yes. She looked a lot like you, as I said. I don't know what happened to her."

"What was her name?"

"Her name was Rosamund. We'd only been married a year. She was expecting our first child." The hoe chuckled. "It would have been a boy, I tell you. I told her that, but she insisted it was a girl. Eirian, she said her name was. I tell you, that child would have been a strong young boy and his name would have been Jonathan."

Cecelia dropped the hoe, her hands flying to her mouth. "You were newly moved here?" she asked, remembering vaguely the tinker's tales. "Rosamund was a scullery maid?"

"Yes," the hoe said, disconcerted from its fall. "How on earth did you know?"

"She survived," Cecelia said softly. "Long enough to have her child at least. She was right. It was a girl."

"Rosamund is- dead?" the hoe asked, and the pain in its voice was palpable.

"She didn't escape the curse. Her hand turned to glass. And the rest of her followed."

"But the child was born?"

"Yes. A girl."

"She was normal?"

Cecelia thought a moment before replying. "Not quite," she said. "She was born with glass eyes."

Although the hoe had no face, she sensed it giving her a quizzical look.

"I think I'm your daughter," she whispered.

* * *

For some bizarre and unknowable reason, the Lady Eirian was cleaning a hoe in the kitchen. 

The Beast stood in the door, watching for a while, until his curiosity got the better of him at last.

"Why is there a hoe in my kitchen?" he asked her.

"I found it in the garden, and it was so pathetic, I had to care for it," she replied carelessly.

"More like you ran out of things to clean so you had to find new ones," he snorted. She merely smiled infuriatingly at him, so he left before he lost his temper. But sensing there was something more to the story, he remained just outside the door.

"Why didn't you tell him?" an unknown voice, presumably the hoe, asked her.

"I can't. I'm a noble lady," she replied.

"It's wrong for you to deceive him like that."

"He's a nobleman of standing I don't know. He wouldn't fraternize with the likes of me, even desperate as he is."

"Eirian-" the hoe began, but she cut him off. "Shh! I don't want to talk about this now. Let's just get you cleaned up."

Sighing silently, the Beast slipped away.

* * *

So. Kinda short, but if I started adding more it would be rather long. Lot of dialogue though. And the Beast is beginning to gain insight into the mystery that is Cece. 

A happy Halloween to all of you, although most of you probably won't read it until November in which case, happy November. Now make my Halloween/November happy by leaving me a little review!

!--Mazzie--!


	13. The Library

This is basically part 2 of chapter 12, and as you can probably tell (or will be able to tell soon), chapter 12 would indeed have been far too long combined. So yeah.

This is also the exciting chapter everyone's been waiting for- Imogene at last! Now that I've gotten you excited, I'll let you read.

* * *

**Chapter 13: The Library**

The winter months came on slowly, bringing first a slight chill into the air, then frost, and finally snowfall. It wasn't long before fierce winter winds whipped the castle windows and snow piled outdoors.

Cecelia was cold. Although each night she stoked up a mighty fire in the grate in her room, by morning it had died down and the room was cold as ice. Often her hands were too numb for her to start another fire. She spent her days wrapped in heavy velvet curtains she had pulled down in her room. She hadn't planned on staying so long, and so she was unprepared for winter. She wondered occasionally whether she shouldn't go home and take her heavy cloak and her boots and check on her father. His arthritis would bother him sorely, and alone in that house with no one to care for him- she didn't want to think about that. Surely Miranda and Freddy would take him in. When she was younger they had often stayed at the inn in the winter. Of course, once Cece could care for herself and her father on her own, they had remained at their own cottage. But surely her father would remember to go back to the inn?

Thinking this, Cece wandered the halls as she often did. She came quite suddenly upon the library one day near midwinter. The large door at the end of the wide hallway startled her. Never before had she seen it, not even in her dreams of the castle. The novelty of it inspired her to enter.

The room itself was huge, lined with floor-to-ceiling windows, and surprisingly clean. Cece was fairly sure she had never been in here before, and yet no small puffs of dust rose from the carpet under her steps, no spiderwebs hung in the corners, and dust was minimal, as though the room had been cleaned within the week. As she walked further in she noticed the large bookshelves between the windows, so high a ladder ran on a silver bar all around the room.

"Amazing," she breathed.

"It is, isn't it?" a voice said from behind her. She whirled to see the Beast lying beside the fireplace.

"Oh, I'm sorry," she said hastily. "I didn't realize you were here. I'll go."

"No need," the Beast said, uncharacteristically amiable. "I'm hardly doing anything private."

"But this is your- your place, isn't it?" Cece asked.

"My what?" He sounded confused.

"Your place. It sounds strange, I know, but it's a place where-" she faltered and stopped, trying to think where to begin. She took a deep breath and began again. "Back home, I mean, I had my own room and everything, but when I really wanted to go somewhere no one would disturb me, where I could just think and be alone, I would go somewhere else. Not far- just outside of town there was this hill. And that was my place."

The Beast looked at her strangely, then nodded. "Yes," he said. "This is my place, I suppose."

"So I'll leave you to it, then," Cece said, trying to slip out unobtrusively.

"To what?"

"Thinking."

"No, stay. I don't mind." Cece noticed a slight tone of desperate loneliness in his voice, and so decided to stay. She moved toward him and sat.

"How is this room so clean?" she asked. He shot her a look, and she shrugged. "I never said I'd be quiet. I want to know."

He let out a deep sigh. "I clean it myself. It's the only room I care for enough to."

"It's quite beautiful."

"It's nothing. A true library wouldn't have such windows. The windows would be bookshelves. All of this would be bookshelves. The king's castle has a library a dozen times the size of this. I never cared enough for books before, and therefore I have only this paltry collection. I can't even read them."

"You don't know how?" Cece was surprised. He struck her as educated.

"No. I lack the fine motor control involved in reading. If you had any idea how often I've wanted to read these books, just for something to do…" he trailed off.

"I wish I could help."

Now it was the Beast's turn to be surprised. "Surely you know how to read?"

"I've never learned. Until I came here, I was blind. I never thought to read."

"Blind? How?"

"Don't tell me you haven't noticed?"

"Unfortunately my sight is not quite as good as a- as it was before. I cannot tell whether you are blind or not."

"I was born blind. No, worse. I was born with glass eyes. I've been marked as a freak, as strange, all my life. There've been very few who treat me as though I'm normal."

"I'm very sorry."

Although the words "It's not your fault," were on her tongue, she couldn't force herself to say them. She knew it was indeed his fault. He had caused the curse that poisoned her mother and in turn Cece herself.

"I wish," she said instead, "I could tell you it wasn't your fault. But it was. My mother was trapped partially in your curse. She was pregnant with me at the time. Her hand turned to glass. And the rest of her followed suit. I was born only just in time to be human, but even then, as you can tell, I am not fully human."

"How did your mother come to be involved in my curse? I thought you were noble. None of the nobility ever came near my castle."

"Except the princess herself," Cece said quietly.

"Yes," the Beast all-but-whispered. "Except the princess."

No one spoke until finally the Beast said, "But how did your mother end up cursed?"

"She was just outside," Cece hedged, not really wanting to answer. "She had her hand on the gate when the curse broke over the castle. It was just her hand. Then it spread."

"That wasn't my question."

"That was my answer."

After a moment, Cece asked the Beast a question. "How did you come to be cursed? Surely it wasn't just for impregnating another noble, because otherwise there would be many more Beasts running rampant in the country."

"I can't," he said.

"What?"

"I can't run rampant. I can't leave the castle."

"How did you find that out?"

"Imogene." He refused to say more.

"That was the princess's name?" Cece asked cautiously.

"Yes," said the Beast, and he rose and went to the window to watch the swirling flurries outside.

* * *

"_I'm leaving, damn it!" Imogene screamed. "I can't take this life. I can't stand being locked in this horrid castle with only you for company!"_

"_You can't! Imogene, no, don't leave!" the Beast cried desperately. _

_It was their first winter as monsters and the castle was torture. Imogene had sat listlessly for months after the curse, refusing to move, eating little, too numb to care. Then, with the heavy onslaught of fall, she had changed. She had become angry, angry at the Beast, angry at herself, angry at her father, angry at God himself. The Beast had woken, terrified, the night she had come back alive. A sudden roar had risen from the direction of her bedroom, along with the sounds of breaking china and ripping cloth. Wisely, he had remained in his chamber, although, unable to sleep, he paced anxiously. The next morning, when her rage had died down, he had gone in to her, and the first of many arguments had begun._

And it all comes down to this_, he thought grimly. _Imogene leaving me for the cold world outside. After everything.

"_I'm going! I don't give a damn what you think might happen. Anything would be better than this!" Imogene continued to vent as she stormed toward the door. When it banged open, a cold blast of wind blew flurries onto the floor of the entrance hall. The Beast noticed this only idly as he raced out into the snow after Imogene. _

"_Imogene, stop! Wait!" he panted. _

_She whirled to face him. Perhaps the anguish in his voice had gotten to her. "What?" she asked. "What more could you possibly have to say to me?"_

"_You could be killed. An enormous beast roaming the countryside? Hunters will come after you. You could die."_

"_That would be so much better than this life. Anything would be better than this life."_

"_But it would kill me, Imogene."_

"_Oh, God. How can you even say that? How can you even expect me to believe that, now? After everything? You ruined me. You ruined yourself, you've ruined everyone in the castle, you've probably ruined our son. And you stand there and tell me it would kill you if I died? How can you say such a thing?"_

_She turned and ran through the gate into the outside world._

* * *

"What happened?" Cece asked him, tentatively laying a hand on his back.

"We fought. She left the castle in a rage. But the next morning she was back, and she was different."

"What do you mean?"

"She wouldn't eat. She was listless again, like she had been at first. At first I thought it was just the depression again, the depression she'd had for the first few months. But even then she ate. Now all she did was sleep. When she died, she was so thin…she weighed almost nothing. I knew it was the leaving that killed her."

"I'm so sorry," Cece said.

"It hardly matters. It's been so long, and that love was never meant to be."

"It still hurts, doesn't it?"

"Of course it does. Less, now, and less frequently, but I can't think of her without pain. I don't even know if it's pain because I loved her, or pain because my life was destroyed at the same time she was, or pain because we were-" He cut off suddenly.

"What? You were what?"

"Close," he said, and she sensed he wasn't about to say more.

"Very well," she said. "I'll leave you be."

And she turned and left him alone in the vast, quickly darkening library.

* * *

And there is chapter 13. Hopefully you are all feeling a huge sense of relief because you FINALLY know what happened. But what's going to happen now? We'll have to wait and see...But leave review to prompt me to write faster!!

!--Mazzie--!


	14. The Mirror

It's the post-Thanksgiving update!

I've recently been sick, so I've decided that Cece gets to suffer with me! But I'll let you get on with it...

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* * *

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**Chapter 14: The Mirror**

At last, the coldness of Cece's room caught up to her. Near the end of November, she came down with influenza. She walked into the library one morning coughing and sniffling and immediately piqued the Beast's concern.

"Are you sick?" he asked unnecessarily.

"Yes," Cece replied, and her coughing recommenced.

"How did you get sick?"

Cece tried to roll her eyes, but a series of high-pitched sneezes cut her off. Somehow she managed to free her handkerchief- her only handkerchief- from her pocket and cover her nose. When the fit had passed, she looked at the Beast and said, nasally, "I'm cold, is all." She proffered her balled-up handkerchief. "Do you have any extras?" she managed to ask before another coughing fit. "This is the only one I have."

The Beast looked at her curiously. "What do you mean, your only one? I thought you court ladies carried at least five on your persons, not to mention extras in your chambers. All the ladies I knew did."

"Not," Cece choked over a cough, "during the summer. We don't need that many. And I wasn't planning on-" she succumbed to another sneezing fit before continuing, "-staying this long."

"I'm sure I could find some," the Beast said, looking concernedly at her. He couldn't have his only chance of redemption getting sick and- God forbid- _dying_ on him, now could he? "Why don't you go lie down and I'll bring them to you when I find them?"

"That won't help," she said miserably.

"Nonsense," the Beast replied. "My nurses always made me lie down when I was sick. The rest helped."

"No, I mean-" she broke down coughing and had to wait a few minutes to recover herself "-I mean that my room is very cold and it will hardly help me to be in a cold room."

"Oh. It is the drafty one, isn't it?"

"You say that-" she sniffled "- like there's only one drafty room, and it's the one you happened to put me in."

"No, no!" the Beast said hurriedly, although at the time her attitude had made him want to punish her, and her room assignment was indeed intentional. "I'd forgotten. Needless to say, no one had stayed there for a while."

Cece nodded, and she looked so miserable that the Beast had to stifle a laugh. "Come on," he said instead, gesturing toward the door with his head. "Let's see what I can do to warm your room a bit."

* * *

After considerable digging in the cleaning supplies closet near the lady Eirian's room, the Beast at last found a strong, hardly rotted rope. Although the task was rather complicated, he managed to get the rope into Eirian's room. Between coughs and sneezes, she helped him tie the rope around the foot of her bed, which he then pulled closer to the fireplace. _Occasionally_, the Beast thought,_ this form does come in handy._

Eirian, meanwhile, had stoked a warm fire in the grate. She was now curled in her bed, wrapped in her blankets and, he noticed, the drapes she had pulled down. He shook his head. The drapes had helped keep the drafts out. In her efforts to keep warm, Eirian had made herself only colder.

"Do you have a warmer dress to change into?" he asked her, noticing the light cotton of the dress she was wearing.

She shook her head. "As I said earlier, I didn't plan on staying so long."

He nodded. "I can see if any of- Imogene's-" he choked the name out, amazed that it could still hold so much pain for him "- gowns will fit you," he suggested.

Even sick as she was, Eirian caught the hesitation in his voice. "Are you sure?" she asked.

"Of course."

She nodded, and he left for Imogene's room.

* * *

Little had changed. Of course the room was at least an inch deep in dust, and there were a few new cobwebs in the corners, but overall the room was as he'd left it- cold, dark, and inhospitable. Without giving the room more than a cursory glance, he went to Imogene's wardrobe and opened it. 

His heart panged. He had a memory of Imogene for everyone of these dresses. Here was the cornflower blue riding dress she had worn when he first met her. He pawed past the green lawn she had worn when she told him of her pregnancy. At last he found a brown velvet she had worn early in that first winter, before her belly had gotten too large. Eirian could wear this. They were about the same size and frame, after all.

As he pulled the dress out, something teetered and fell. He caught it reflexively. It was indeed a lucky catch, he realized as he looked at the object. It was the Imogene's hand mirror, the one she had refused to smash, the only mirror left in the entire castle. He resisted the urge to look into it. Looking would only cause him to smash it.

But Eirian could use it. He tucked it within the folds of the gown and took it back to her room. She was asleep, so he laid it on the chair by the fire- and the bed, now. Then, not wanting to leave Eirian alone, he lay on the hearth rug and dozed.

* * *

The room was nearly dark when Cece woke. She was surprised she had slept so long. 

When she rose, she noticed the Beast sleeping at the foot of her bed. Touched, and not wanting to wake him, she took the dress he had laid on the armchair and slipped into the dressing room. The dress fit well, and despite its dustiness, flattered her. It was so much warmer than her comparatively light dress, and so rich that she couldn't resist spinning in it. The skirts flared up, and with them a cloud of dust. She began sneezing profusely and realized how ridiculously she was acting. She was supposed to be a grand court lady, after all!

When she reentered her room, the Beast was sitting up watching her. She noticed the way his eyes glittered when he saw her, and she wondered if he was remembering Imogene. She realized suddenly how much seeing her in this dress would hurt him.

"I'm sorry," she said, her voice hoarse from more than her illness alone. "I didn't mean to bring up bad memories."

The Beast shook his great head. "Not all bad. Just bittersweet. I miss her still."

Cece nodded sympathetically, then shivered. She realized she must have a fever, because there was no other way she would suddenly be this cold. She swayed on her feet.

The Beast noticed and was at her side in a moment. "Do you need anything?" he asked her, and she could hear the concern in his voice.

"Just tea, I think," she said. "I should lay down."

He guided her to her bed. Detached as she was, the gentle pressure of his body on her legs made her smile, and his soft fur under her hand seemed more detailed than it had before. Everything seemed sharper, clearer, and yet felt less real. She was grateful when she reached the bed and pulled herself under the heavy blankets. She tried to keep herself awake by concentrating on everything she could see. She noticed something new on the table beside her bed. She must have set it there when she grabbed the gown to change. She leaned forward and took it. Even though she had never seen one before, she knew what it was- a mirror. She looked into it, wondering what she looked like. But instead of her face, the mirror showed a cottage covered in snow. Even though she had never seen it before, she recognized home. Intrigued, she watched.

* * *

_The tinker came tottering up the front walk, using his winter cane for support. __**So, he is staying home, **_Cece thought. _**He's going to kill himself that way.**_

_He entered the front door, and Cece's viewpoint followed him. The kitchen was well-lit and probably warm. The tinker stoked the fire with an iron poker, then pulled a kitchen chair up by the stove and sat. He appeared to doze off. Cece fumed that he had been so stupid to stay alone in his house._

_The door banged open again. To Cece's surprise, Bastien stood there. _

"_Good, you made it back, then," he said as the tinker looked curiously up at him._

"_You're as bad as Cece with all your worrying! I always do make it back," the tinker said irritably. _

"_Whatever you say," Bastien said, still lighthearted. But when he spoke again, his tone was serious. "Do you think she's all right?"_

_The tinker's face was serious as well. He sat up straight and turned to look directly at Bastien._

"_I think I'd know if she wasn't. I may not be her real father, but I am her father in every other sense of the word. I'd feel if she wasn't all right. And she's a big girl. She knows when to look to others for help. She'll be fine."_

_Just as Bastien was about to speak, Cece heard a knock at her door._

* * *

It was more of a thump, actually. Eirian rose and opened the door for the Beast, who was somehow carrying a tray with a pot of tea and a teacup on it on his head. He had knocked with his tail. 

"My word, Beast!" Cece exclaimed weakly, lifting the tottering tray from his head and carrying it in to set on the table. "What were you thinking?"

"Well, I had to get it here somehow, didn't I?" he groused.

"It's not that I'm not grateful, it's just- you could have hurt yourself. Or broken something."

When she turned around the Beast was looking at her strangely. "What?" she asked.

"You sound as though you care," he said. That was important. If she cared, surely she could love.

"Of course I care," she said, in a _you're-being-ridiculous_ tone. When he continued to stare, she seemed to realize something and said, "Not that way!"

"Oh," the Beast said, disappointed. Eirian poured herself some of the tea and took a sip. Although she tried to hide it, the Beast noticed her wince and set the cup back down.

"Is the tea all right?" he asked her.

"It's fine," she said, but she didn't sip again.

"What were you doing, anyway?"

"I was looking at the mirror," she said.

"Oh, you found it," the Beast said. "I was going to surprise you."

"It was certainly a surprise," she said.

"I just thought perhaps, since you weren't able to see before, you would like to know what you look like."

"I don't think it works that way," Eirian said, and she looked slightly disconcerted.

"What do you mean?" he asked. "It's a mirror."

"Not this one. I think maybe it's magic."

"I doubt that. There's no such thing as magic."

"Says the man who's been turned into a beast."

He flinched, but only slightly. "Touché," he said. "Why do you think it's magic?" he asked to change the subject.

"I looked in it- to see myself, as you said- and it showed me- my father."

"Your father?"

"Yes. I've been worrying about him since I got here. He needs me, you see. I don't know if it was a true vision at all, because my- friend- was with him, and surely that's impossible. I think I'm a little feverish," she finished, before half-collapsing against the bed. The Beast was at her side in an instant. He helped her to the bed again, and she fell asleep almost instantly.

Meanwhile, the Beast glanced at the mirror, half-buried in blankets on the bed. He couldn't resist. Even if the mirror wasn't magic, if Eirian had been delusional, he needed to know what he looked like. He lifted the mirror…

* * *

_Imogene sat at her vanity table, combing her hair. The window was reflected, and the Beast could tell that it was late summer or early fall. The past…_

_A knock sounded, but not from the door. Imogene rose and pushed gently at a panel beside her bed. It opened to reveal a secret passageway and a young man the Beast recognized as a stablehand. Imogene smiled and greeted him with a kiss. _

"_I missed you," she said._

"_I missed you," the stablehand replied. _

_They kissed again…and again…and again…_

_

* * *

_The Beast flipped the mirror over. He didn't need to watch any more. 

It hurt him. Even though he had subconsciously suspected all this time that Imogene had been seeing other men, he had hoped he was her only lover, as she had been his. It was a foolish thing to think. They were the same, he and Imogene.

_But_, he realized suddenly_, if Imogene was with another man, then perhaps her child wasn't mine. Perhaps I'm being punished for nothing…_

The realization was enough to put him in a daze. The room suddenly felt too small. He had to leave, now. He all but ran for the door and out into the snowy garden.

* * *

A shocking plot twist! I thought this up while I was writing it, and decided to stick it in because it doesn't feng the story's shui too much. Now I'm worried about topping it... 

Either way, now it's time for me to ask for reviews. But this time I'm asking for further commitment. I recently posted a poll on my profile page (the one, not like my Myspace) and as it pertains to this story I ask my readers to please vote! I'll probably close it in a few weeks, but I just want to get an idea of what my readers want. So yeah!

That's all, folks!

!--Mazzie--!


	15. Yule

I feel so bad, first for taking so long to update and then for not updating for Christmas! This was intended to be the Christmas chapter, but my computer crashed the week after Thanksgiving and I had to wait for a full restore to get working on this again (I saved it, of course. Otherwise I might have killed myself).

Although it may seem like a borrowed a lot of this from the Beauty and the Beast Christmas movie, I honestly haven't watched it for a few years, although I did want to...but no, this isn't my version of that, it's just a Christmas anecdote.

Merry belated Christmas to all of you!

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**Chapter 15: Yule**

"Are we going to celebrate Yule?" Eirian asked the Beast one day. She was just recovering from her illness, about two weeks before said holiday.

"Yule?" the Beast asked, incredulous. He had all but forgotten such a holiday existed.

"Of course. It's my favorite holiday," she replied, and her tone was so excited that he had to look at her. She looked far better than she had in past weeks. Her cheeks had a healthy flush. Seeing his look, she gave him a smile, the most genuine he'd seen out of her yet.

He sighed. "Very well," he said, sensing he would regret his decision in the near future. But he felt a need to please Eirian after her illness. She'd been miserable for so long, he felt she deserved a celebration.

"Oh, wonderful! How shall we decorate?" she asked eagerly.

"Decorate?" the Beast asked. He hadn't realized he would regret Yule so soon.

"Of course, decorate. Haven't you ever celebrated Yule before?"

"Of course I have. It's been a while."

"Well, we need wreaths and garlands and of course the tree," she said, still sounding overjoyed.

"Tree?" the Beast asked.

"Yes. We can get one off the grounds. It should be some sort of evergreen."

"Well, then," the Beast said, feigning excitement, "let's go look."

* * *

The Beast took fastidious care to ensure that Cece was bundled tightly in warm clothes. Besides her usual petticoat and gown, she was wearing thick flannel long underwear, a pair of cotton tights, thick woolen stockings, heavy boots, a scarf, a leather jacket the Beast had procured from somewhere- it smelled like a barn-, a heavy wool cloak with a hood, a knit cap, a pair of lady's riding gloves (these she did not need to ask about), and thick leather gloves that smelled much the same as the jacket. She was sweating by the time she had dressed, but still the Beast fretted. 

"Are you sure you're warm?" he asked. "We can't have you getting sick again." Although Cece agreed thoroughly, she merely replied, "I'm sweating now. No doubt I'll be adequately warm."

Although he looked dubious, the Beast led Cece to the door. Their plan was to canvass the entire grounds over the next few days in search of a tree. They began in the west garden, but all they saw were hedges, rosebushes, and weeds. As they made their way around, they had equal success. The few pines they saw were small, scraggly, or overgrown with ivy.

"It has to be an evergreen?" the Beast asked after a few hours. He had noticed that Cece's nose was red and that her teeth were chattering. The cold permeated everything- even he, with his warm layers of fur, shivered.

"Of course. Their branches grow low enough to decorate, not like other trees," Cece replied. Although she had never really seen an evergreen, she had felt and smelled enough to know that much.

"Well then," he concluded, "we'll have to forego the tree."

Cece sighed. Decorating the tree was her favorite Yule tradition. "There are some in the forest. Papa and I always get them there at Yule," she proposed.

"Unfortunately," the Beast reminded her, "neither of us can leave the castle. I would die, and you would be unable to see and therefore not much use anyway."

She would have cast him a death glare, but settled for pursed lips. "Not to be offensive," he amended quickly. "I apologize if I have indeed offended you."

"Apology accepted," Cece replied, but inwardly she sighed. He'd been so strange to her lately, ever since she got sick. Of course those couple of weeks had been hell. She'd been sick and unable to care for herself, and the Beast had proven himself…very bad at making tea. She shuddered at the mere thought of his tea, which, though it had improved, had never really been palatable. He had, however, spent a lot of time in her room, keeping the fire lit and roaring and attending to her every request. If only he hadn't been acting so strange these past few days…

She shook her head gently as she came out of her reverie. The Beast had somehow led her close to the castle while she was thinking, although she didn't recall moving. She opened the large door for him and went to her room to shed some of her heavy outerwear before meeting the Beast in the library.

Another thing he had been doing lately was teaching her to read. Bedridden, but feeling well enough, she had begged him for something to do- "Besides look in the mirror!", as was his constant suggestion. And so he had fetched a few easy books from his library and brought them to her bedchamber, where he perched on the large bed beside her and taught her letters and the sounds they made. She had progressed to slightly harder books, which she could mostly read on her own, but still she needed help sometimes. And the Beast loved when she read to him. So, haltingly, she did, every day in the library. It had become a daily tradition for the two of them, although perhaps "tradition" was the wrong word, seeing as so far it hadn't been a week. Still, it cheered them both.

Today, however, she postponed their reading for just a few moments.

"All right," she said, sitting on a pouf by the fire, "if we can't have a large, traditional celebration, we should at least do something."

The Beast glanced up at her. "Who says we can't have a large, traditional celebration?" he asked, sounding genuinely puzzled.

"Well, there aren't any decent pines in all the grounds, so we can't have a tree. And we can't make garlands and wreaths without some sort of evergreen branches, so those are out too. I'm going to guess you don't have any Yule decorations left in the castle or, if you do, you have no idea where they are and by the time we find them, it will be next Yule. We have no means of procuring a ham, turkey, or other sort of large roast, and we have nothing with which to make cookies. We could maybe find a bottle of wine or champagne or something, but it's hardly likely that we'll be able to find anything to eat with it. And due to a lack of population, we can't have any sort of party. So yes, I'd say a large, traditional celebration is out of the question."

The Beast stared at her. She realized that aside from reading to him, this was possibly the longest speech she had ever made in his presence. She felt herself flushing.

"All right, then," he said finally. "I have been successfully talked out of that plan. Do you have any other ideas?"

Cece frowned. She had hoped he'd cancel the whole thing, even though she'd be enormously disappointed, but a small part of her had hoped he would come up with his own plan. Put on the spot, she found herself quite unable to think of anything.

"Well," she said finally, "what did you used to do for Yule?"

* * *

_Imogene's hand rested self-consciously on her tight and slightly swollen belly. "Are you sure about this?" she asked. The prince smiled at her._

"_Of course," he said. "The best way to show that nothing is wrong is to throw a huge party."_

_She gave him an odd look, but took his arm and let him lead her onto the dance floor. _

_Truly, the "huge party" was nothing compared to the parties both had once loved at court, but it was adequate enough. A few local barons had ridden in with their wives and children, and the prince couldn't help but smile at how they marveled at his meager decorations, the tiny village orchestra, and the small amount of people there. Still, none of them had ever been to court, so they could have no comprehension of how pathetic this party was._

_It was Yule, once the prince's favorite time of year- besides, of course, the summer social season-, and the party was full of cheery people exchanging greetings and gifts. Of course a few young couples danced, and a few young men eyed the serving girls- the prince mused that more than one infant would be conceived tonight-, but it was hardly a joyous celebration. Everyone had heard the rumors- even their subject, the prince, had heard them- and so there was a feeling of tension that cast a pall over the whole affair. Women eyed Imogene shrewdly, looking for the telltale bump. Men were eyeing her too, but for a different reason. They were all hoping the rumors were false. _

_The prince carefully did not dance too often with Imogene and flirted studiously with other girls. Imogene acted the same way, although everything she did seemed a little forced, and she cast constant glances at him across the dance floor. He had no real response besides a smile, as charming a smile as he could muster. _

_Towards the end of the evening, everyone gathered in the dining hall, now bereft of table and featuring a circle of chairs around the huge Yule tree in the center. Servants passed out gifts and everyone began to open. The prince relaxed a little. So far, everything had gone smoothly, and after the gift exchange Imogene could honorably retire early, as would many of the other young ladies, while some dancing would continue far into the morning. Then tomorrow, all the guests would go home, and he and Imogene would be in the clear._

_He then heard an outraged gasp from Imogene, followed by a piercing shriek. He looked over. She was holding what was obviously a garment for a baby clenched in her fist, and she stood shaking in rage._

"_Who did this?" she screamed. "Who had the audacity to present me with such a gift?"_

_The prince rose to his feet and laid a soothing hand on her arm. "Surely it was a mistake, my lady," he said calmly, although inside he, too, was shaking with rage. "Check the package for a tag."_

_She bent down and picked up the wrapping. A ripped tag read "Princess Imogene", but had no name for the sender. The prince glanced around the room until he spotted a plain-faced baron's daughter with a smug expression on her face. He stalked up to her._

"_Begging your pardon, my lady," he said, forcing himself to remain calm, "but is this your gift?"_

_She smiled. "Yes, Your Highness. Word reached our manor that milady the princess might be needing it." She smothered a giggle in her handkerchief. The prince turned to her mother. _

"_I beg your pardon, madam, but I'm afraid I shall have to ask you and your daughters to-" _

_He was interrupted by Imogene's scream._

"_Perhaps I am pregnant!" she called. "So what if I am? All of you have done it at some point, I was merely the unlucky one this time. I try to retire to a secluded area to get rid of my shame in peace, and it follows me here! I've seen you, all evening, gossiping, staring! Shame on all of you-"_

_She stopped only when the prince grabbed her arm. "Stop that!" he hissed into her ear, then turned to his guests. "I beg your pardon, ladies and gentlemen, but it appears Princess Imogene is not feeling well. If you will excuse me while I escort her to her chamber, I shall return shortly."_

_They left the hall to a flurry of whispers. "Well," he said angrily, "if we were planning on keeping this a secret, we've failed miserably."_

_Imogene did not reply. She still clutched the baby garment in her hands._

* * *

"I'm sorry," Eirian said softly. "I did not mean to bring up bad memories." 

The Beast glanced at her. She had gotten to know when he was thinking of Imogene, and he wasn't entirely sure he liked that. "You haven't," he said. "I was trying to think what we did. We had a gift exchange."

"That sounds lovely!" Eirian squealed. "We'll make each other gifts and give them to each other on Yule morning! Oh, Beast, you're brilliant!"

He flinched. He still disliked that she called him Beast. He covered his discomfort by saying., "Maybe I'll give you a broom."

She pursed her lips at him, her version of a glare, and replied, "Maybe I'll give you a teapot."

"Touché," he said, and they laughed together. They'd become so comfortable, almost like friends. Not that the Beast really had a concrete idea of friendship, as he'd never really had a friend. But their relationship was what he imagined friendship would be. Of course the friendship was better than their cordial tolerance had been, but how, the Beast wondered, to make it something more?

He spent the next several days pondering what to get Eirian that would say "friendship" but mean "love". He consulted the armchair. It had, after all, once been a woman.

"I would say flowers," the chair answered, "but there aren't any in bloom. And chocolate's out of the question. I don't really know, master. Something nice that you know she'd like."

"I have nothing!" he said. "Nothing that's mine, anyway."

"What about your old ring, master?" the chair suggested. "You've no use for it, and I daresay your fingers were delicate enough the ring would fit her hand."

The Beast nodded. "Yes, of course! Thank you! Now, where is the blasted thing?"

He spent the afternoon searching and, once he had found the ring, cleaning it. He had nothing with which to wrap it, and so he painstakingly threaded a chain through it and hung it on a nail above his bed. Eirian never entered and therefore would never discover the ring. He smiled, pleased with himself. Eirian would fall for him for sure now!

* * *

Cece had less trouble deciding on a gift and more trouble hiding it. The Beast came into her chambers frequently, especially at night, when he would enter periodically to check her fire. Although it certainly kept her warm, it inconvenienced her keeping the gift a secret. Finally she decided that hiding it in her bathtub was a grand idea, for the Beast never entered the bathing room. 

She had decided almost immediately to make him a proper bed. Although she had seldom entered his room, she had seen that he slept on a pile of rags and worn cushions. So she had located some old sheets and cushions- after making sure they weren't people- and was now in the process of sewing them into a proper bed. The project required her to spend an inordinate amount of time in her room, which she was sure had the Beast suspicious. Still, she worked as quickly and surely as she could, even late into the night after feigning sleep, for she was long used to sewing in the dark. She had his gift finished exactly two days before Yule, and she was just as excited as he was to present it to him.

* * *

Yule morning came at last. After a quick, silent breakfast in Cece's room, the two bustled off to fetch their gifts and meet in the library. As Cece's present was closer, she reached the library first. After lighting a fire, she sat and waited for only a few moments before the Beast entered. He had encountered some trouble in carrying the chain to the library without dropping, dragging, swallowing, or losing it. He presented his first. 

"Happy Yule, Lady Eirian," he said softly, dropping the ring and its coiled chain into her palm. She glanced down in shock. Its gold band was thicker than she would have chosen, as it was a man's ring, and over the seal had been inlaid a ruby, but she could still see his seal within. "It's so beautiful," she breathed. She tried it on every finger, but it fit only on her thumb, so she decided to wear it on the chain around her neck. "Thank you so much, Beast," she said. "I wish now I'd gotten you something fancier."

"I'm sure I'll love whatever it is," the Beast said graciously. He felt as though he'd succeeded- surely she'd been so pleased by his gift that she would fall in love with him! Women loved gifts, especially sentimental stuff like rings.

Cece reached under her chair and pulled out the bed she had made. "It's a proper bed for you to sleep in," she said, a little sheepishly. "It's hardly as meaningful as a ring, but it's practical."

The Beast motioned for her to lay it down and sat upon it. It was wonderfully soft, and he could hardly feel the stone floor beneath him. "It's very comfortable," he said. "Thank you."

She smiled at him and helped him take the bed into his room. They set it up in his usual corner, after first cleaning- the Beast shuddered a little: would this foray mean further cleaning trips into his chambers?- the area. They then returned to the library, where the Beast found a collection of Yuletide stories, and Cece read them to him until her voice was hoarse. They ate a light dinner and both went to bed content.

* * *

Well there you have it. Lame, and badly ended, I'll admit, but otherwise it would have gone on...and on...and on...so I stopped it there.This is the longest chapter yet anyway, which makes me feel good because I wrote short chapters for so long.

Either way, I hope you enjoyed it, but I need your feedback in a review (and you can count it as my Christmas present if you forgot to get me one). So review!!

!--Mazzie--!


	16. Waiting for Spring

Hey everybody! I'm updating again at last (love how FF's put a deadline on me haha) and as per usual I'd like to apologize for the long wait. I went a few weeks, like I usually do, but then I got involved in a play so I've been intensely busy since mid-January. Either way, I've finally updated.

Hope you love it!

* * *

**Chapter 16: Waiting for Spring**

The end to winter was slow coming. After Yule, the Beast and Cece had little to do but spend their days in the library reading. At first, neither really minded- reading was such a novelty to Cece that she voraciously devoured any book set before her and the Beast found Cece's voice soothing. Still, as January became February and February turned to March, Cece especially became restless and could no longer pay much attention to her reading.

"It's just so cold!" she exclaimed one day. "It's sunny out there, so it should be warm, but it's far too cold to go out."

"Why," the Beast asked, "are you so eager to get outside?"

"Because I miss it," Cece said simply. "I miss the feel of the warm sun, and planting things, and I want to _see_ spring for the first time." _And possibly the last,_ she thought, but didn't say. She'd been here nearly half a year, and still she saw no signs that the curse was anywhere near being broken. She still didn't know how to break it, and if the Beast knew, he wasn't telling her. She wondered if he realized how he was undermining her efforts.

"You plant things?" the Beast asked. Cece sighed internally. Apparently he hadn't been paying much attention at all.

"Yes. Roses are my favorites."

"How did you manage that?" He seemed confused.

"It's not that hard. Healthy flowers have a different feel than sick ones. I got pricked a few times, but that's nothing."

The Beast reached out suddenly and grabbed her hand in his paw. She flinched at the sudden contact and looked away uncomfortably. It wasn't that she didn't like him, but he'd never really touched her before, and the pads of his palm were rough.

"Look at these scars!" the Beast said. "You should be more careful." He seemed to realize how uncomfortable she was, because he dropped her hand and began pacing the floor. "Sorry," he muttered.

"No, I am. I didn't mean to offend you," Cece said softly. He was obviously hurt by her reaction. She reminded herself how lonely he had been for twenty long years. "And besides," she added, changing the subject, "I'll be able to see the thorns on the roses, so I won't cut myself so often."

The Beast, meanwhile, lay down on the rug in front of the fire and watched her carefully. She glanced away under his gaze.

"I'm sorry," she said again.

* * *

It wasn't enough.

Whatever he was doing, everything he tried to spend time with her, to be kind to her, to be her friend and not just some freakish monster she had to stay with- none of it was enough. How foolish of him to think that just because they'd spent time together, just because she read to him, just because he'd given her a ring, she would change her mind. Any repulsiveness her gaze had lately lacked meant nothing. She had flinched when he took her hand. _Flinched_. No, she would never be comfortable around him as he was now, and if she didn't get to know him now, how would she fall in love with him so he could be someone she could stand to look at? He growled in frustration.

The armchair heard. "Master," she said, "what's troubling you?"

"She doesn't love me," he said.

"Now, now, master, you can't know that."

"I touched her hand today," he said, "and she pulled away. She flinched. She didn't want me to touch her."

The armchair fell silent. She could offer no comfort.

"How am I supposed to break the curse when my only hope can't stand to have me touch her?" His voice rose dangerously.

"Master, as I recall, there are two parts to the spell," the armchair said. "You have to fall in love with her as well."

The Beast fell silent, thinking.

"Do you love her, Master?" she asked.

"How do you know?" he responded with a question of his own. "I thought I was in love with Imogene, but the more I look back, the more I realize she was little more to me than a pretty face and a worry. If I don't know how love feels, how can I expect to know if I love her?"

"It's not hard," the armchair said, and the Beast wondered if whom she thought of. "When you realize that no matter what they're doing, you're happy just to be in the same room, and that the worst thing would be if they ever left you, and that you'd really and truly do anything for them, you know. When they're the first thought when you wake up, and the last thought before you fall asleep, you know. When they're not with you, and you wonder what they're doing, you know. It takes a while sometimes, but once you realize it, you realize that you've been so foolish all along, and all you want is them."

The Beast stared out the window silently. This was the most he'd heard from the armchair in a long time, perhaps ever, and he considered every word. Outside, night had fallen- a little later than it had a month before- and a cold moon glittered over the snow. Some part of him knew it was nearly midnight, that he'd been fretting for hours. Did he love Eirian? He liked being with her, but he had no one else to be with. Of course he'd be upset if she left: his curse would never be broken. He wondered if he'd do anything for her. Would he die for her? He wasn't sure.

_No_, he thought finally, _I don't love her. But maybe I will_.

* * *

On yet another snowy day in February, the Beast entered Eirian's room to find her looking intently at the mirror.

"What are you watching?" he asked.

"Nothing," she said hurriedly, flipping the mirror over and pushing it under the cushion on the couch.

He laughed, a deep, ugly, throaty laugh. "Now I have to see," he said, reaching for it.

"Stop!" Eirian cried, grabbing the mirror and holding it up high, but not quite out of his reach. She stood up on the couch, wobbling a bit on the unsteady surface. The Beast continued reaching for it, coming ever closer to her body. She laughed and screamed, "Stop it!" over and over until at last she tumbled over the back of the couch with the Beast close behind. They landed in a heap on the cushy Oriental rug, still laughing.

"Why can't I see?" the Beast asked, a little more seriously.

"It's private," Eirian replied, shifting gently so the mirror, miraculously unbroken, lay beneath her. He playfully reached for it, and she squirmed away. He let her go.

"I'm serious," she said, sitting primly back down on the mussed-up sofa.

The Beast moved to sit at her feet. "You won't even tell me who it was? In general terms?"

"It was nobody," she replied, still evasive.

"A paramour?" he teased.

She smirked at him. "If you must know that badly, I was watching my-" she hesitated "-my father."

He watched her, awaiting explanation.

"Well," she said, "really he's not my father, but he took me in when my parents…died." She hesitated again.

"What does that mean? Are they really dead?"

"I'm not sure, actually," she said softly. "I came here in the hopes of finding out."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"Somehow," Eirian began slowly, "my parents and I are tied into your curse."

"So you've told me."

"I had hoped, by coming here, that maybe I could break the curse and save my parents. And myself."

"Do you know how to break the curse?" the Beast asked. _Had she figured it out?_

"I still don't. I know only that it requires a maiden. So I, a maiden, came to help you. And yet it's been five months and I still don't know what to do."

Something in her tone was so discouraged that the Beast allowed himself to lay a paw on her knee. He watched it, the ugly, incongruous thing against the delicate fabric of Imogene's old dress. He felt Eirian's warmth through the skirt. She did not jerk away.

"You'll figure it out," he said kindly.

"Do you know it? If you do, please tell me. You don't know how important it is to me."

The Beast sat silently._Should I tell her?_ he wondered. His more rational side told him telling her would force her into loving him, and he didn't want that. He wanted her to love him by herself, and then tell her about the curse.

"I don't know," he said calmly.

"Then this is nearly impossible," Eirian said with a sigh.

* * *

As Eirian moped in her chamber, the Beast danced in his. Not literally, for such an action would be so awkward he didn't even bother to attempt it. He was so elated, however, that he would have danced.

He had fallen on Eirian, and she hadn't screamed or panicked.

He had laid a paw on her knee, and she hadn't drawn away.

He had teased her, and she had laughed.

Finally, he collapsed on his bed, the bed she had made him, and fell asleep recollecting the instant he'd touched her leg.

* * *

Cece dragged a chair over to the window and curled up in it, wrapped tightly in a woven blanket. She watched the snow fall and thought about everything.

She still didn't know how to break the curse, but she believed the Beast did. He had to have a good reason for not telling her. And if he had a reason, she trusted him. She startled herself with this observation, but she realized it was true. She did trust him, unreasonable as it may seem.

And then her thoughts turned to something else. Although only a week or so before she'd flinched away from his touch, today she hadn't minded at all. He'd fallen on top of her and she hadn't batted an eye. She knew he'd never hurt her, and they were merely playing. She smiled slightly at the memory. She rubbed her knee, somehow both hot and cold where he had touched it. Her touch caused the phantom touch of his warm, rough paw and goosebumps spread over her arms. She hadn't even noticed then, but now the thought of it made her insides leap and a rumble of electricity run up her spine.

She fell asleep only a few moments later with that memory on her mind.

* * *

**Author's Note**: So. A rather boring soliloquy chapter, but I think some important stuff's going down, so we shall see. Maybe something interesting in the next couple of chapters?

If you haven't noticed, I tend to write about things that are happening to me (hence the almost-but-not-quite-spring), so it'll be another week or two before I get another chapter up. Long weekend next week so maybe I'll have something for you then?? Anyway.

I've opened a new poll on my homepage, but it's kind of boring so don't feel obligated to vote. What's more important is you reading and reviewing right...NOW!!

!--Mazzie--!


	17. Spring Cleaning

* * *

So I am _super-sorry_ about the long wait, but this chapter's been stewing in my head for a while, and it's about time it got out (right?) Anyway, this chapter's rather short, but it's action-packed! BAM! so be ready...

Argh. Line breaks are being odd. So I can't have a post-reading note to tell you to review. So I'll hope you remember after all the intense-ness that is this chapter.

!--Mazzie--!

* * *

**Chapter Seventeen: Spring Cleaning**

The Beast's stomach sunk when he saw Eirian with a mop and bucket.

"What is that?" he asked in trepidation.

"It's spring cleaning time," she said cheerily. Horror clenched the Beast's gut.

Eirian glanced at him and laughed. "Don't look so scared. Spring cleaning isn't bad. Haven't you ever done it before?"

He pondered. He seemed to recall a week or so in which the maids and cleaning staff had seemed rather worked up, but he'd always hidden in the upper realms of the castle and avoided anyone who might enlist him to work.

"No," he said, quite honestly.

"Well, we'll have fun. Now that it's warm, you can take the rugs outside and beat them."

He smiled grotesquely at her deadpan. "Why?"

She shook her head. "It gets the dust out. Oh, and if the rug talks, ask if it wants a beating before you beat it. It's only common courtesy."

The Beast glanced at her, unsure whether or not she was serious. It appeared she was. "So, take rugs outside, lay them down, and hit them?" he clarified.

"No. You'll have to hang them on a clothesline. I've got one up already because I plan to do some laundry in the near future."

_How can she plan all this?_ the Beast wondered. _Moreover, how can she sound so happy about it?_

"Well?" Eirian asked impatiently, interrupting his thoughts. "I can't sweep or mop while the rugs are still there. Pick a room and start beating."

The Beast sighed and went to work.

* * *

Cece watched the Beast out an upstairs window as he struggled with a heavy Oriental rug. He had been trying for the past several minutes to pin it up with clothespins, but had discovered that the rug was too heavy to be supported by clothespins and too long to hang over one side without dragging on the ground. She laughed quietly, but it seemed the Beast heard her, for he angrily flung the rug half over the clothesline, which sagged greatly, and began punching it, which had only caused her to laugh the harder. He glanced self-consciously up at the castle, probably to see if she was watching, and she darted off to clean her own chambers.

The hoe, which she kept in a corner of her chamber, struck up a conversation as soon as she entered the room. Cece loved talking to the hoe. She had learned a great deal about her mother and her family's hopes and dreams, although he had been obnoxiously obtuse about the Beast and his spell. Still, their conversations were often edifying for both of them, and she happily chattered away as she swept and dusted.

"You seem awfully happy," he said. "What are you thinking about?"

Cece realized she had been smiling and humming, and her smile stretched wider. "The Beast is very awkward about cleaning," she said, "and it's quite an amusing thing to watch."

Something about the hoe's ensuing silence caused her to stop smiling. "What?" she asked, a little defensively.

Perhaps it was his personality, or perhaps the fact that for twenty years he had lain in a garden with no one to talk to, but the hoe could never resist speaking his mind.

"Do you love him, Eirian?" he asked.

"Of course not," Cece said immediately, and made as though to laugh it off. "Why would you even ask that?" she added after a moment.

"I simply remember acting much the same way after I met your mother," he said a little wistfully. Cece felt sorry for him. For twenty years he had lived in the hope that his wife was waiting somewhere in the castle for him, only to find out a few months ago that in truth she had escaped and lived only to bear her child before dying. He had never even gotten a chance to say goodbye, for who would expect such a catastrophe as that that had separated her parents?

"No," Cece said softly, "I am not in love with the Beast. How can I be, when I'm already in love with someone else?"

"Someone else?" her father asked. "Surely you haven't met a clock and become extremely attracted to him?"

Cece smiled. "You know I prefer lamps, Father," she joked. She always used the more formal address with him. Her Papa was the old tinker back in the village. She hardly knew this man well enough to give him the same title. "In all seriousness, he is a prince, and I believe he loves me too."

"A prince?"

"Yes. His name is Bastien, and he is the king's own grandson. He came to the village to discover what happened to his mother, Princess Imogene. I stole his quest from him, in a way."

"Eirian," the hoe said, and his tone was grave. "should you ever see that boy again, tell him to let this mystery lie. He will discover nothing that he needs or wants to know, and the answer would only torment him."

"So you do know," Cece murmured. "Why won't you tell me what happened here?"

"Some secrets," the hoe replied, "are better kept."

And he would say no more.

* * *

Unexpectedly, the Beast discovered he liked beating rugs. At first he had beaten angrily, mostly at Eirian for making him clean _again_, but once he had gotten into a rhythm he found himself thinking, mostly about the curse. How would he ever break it? He couldn't tell Eirian its terms; they would scare her off. Besides, she wasn't in love with him, and he certainly wasn't in love with her. His mind ran the same circular track over and over until he heard a voice behind him.

"I think that rug's clean enough," Eirian said, smiling.

The comment itself meant nothing at all, but his reaction was explosive, to say the least. His heart began pounding and he saw spots. Chills ran down his spine, and his gut clenched.

"I think you're right," he said in a strangled voice.

"It's getting late," she said, in a voice like honey. "Are you hungry?"

"Are you sure there aren't more rugs you need me to clean?" He tried to keep the conversation normal.

She nodded at a pile of five or six rugs in the grass. "You've done quite enough."

The Beast was dumbfounded. Had he really done all that? Why didn't he remember?

Eirian seemed to sense his mood. "I'm going to go eat. Feel free to join me if you're hungry."

_Tell her_, screamed every part of his body as the Beast watched Eirian walk away. He had to choke back a cry that would call her back. _I cannot scare her_, he told himself. _I must be patient and wait until she's ready._

* * *

Cece spooned watery soup into her mouth. All winter she had been making due with the meager vegetables she had managed to dig up in the late fall and the few kills she could make. Their supply of food was dwindling now, but it was spring, and soon berries and eggs would be abundant. She had planted their garden to ensure a plethora of food for the next winter. _Next winter_, she thought, _do I really plan to stay that long? _Truly, she'd never planned to stay this long. Surely Father and Bastien were worried sick. Maybe she should alert them, somehow, to her well-being-

The door banged against the wall as it was thrown open violently. Startled, Cece whipped around, only to see the Beast standing wild-eyed at the door.

"What's happened?" she asked. She had never seen him this upset. "Is something wrong?"

"Eirian," he said, "I must know." Her stomach dropped. She should never have lied to him. Telling him she was noble- what a mistake! "Will you marry me?"

The words "I can explain" were balanced on the tip of her tongue, but the Beast's question threw her. "What?" she asked.

"Will you marry me?" he repeated, and he seemed to have calmed somewhat.

"I- will it help you to break your curse?" she asked. Was this really all there was to it, after all this time? It seemed so simple. Marriage, of course, never was, and it would be binding, but who knew what this Beast was like as a man? For permanent sight, for her mother's rescue, to see her father's face, oh, yes, she would marry him in an instant.

But as hope blossomed on her face, it fell from the Beast's. "No," he said quietly. "I- I wondered, was all."

To save face, she assumed, he ran out of the door, and she didn't think she'd see him again for a while. She collapsed weakly into her chair.

"Oh, what have I done?" she murmured.

* * *


	18. Truth

* * *

So hi! Sorry again for the long break between chapters, but I just got back from 11 days in France, which was AMAZING!!

Anyway. This chapter is a lot of dialog and musing and crap the likes of which I haven't had for a while. But it's over, and that means the next chapter will be more exciting.

Anyway. I hope you haven't missed me too too much and now I'll let you read.

* * *

**Chapter 18: Truth**

_Why, why, why, why, WHY?_ the Beast asked himself. He paced the floor of his chamber, back and forth, berating himself. _Stupid, stupid, stupid! Why, fool? Why ask her when you knew what she'd say? Now you've only frightened her, oh foolish idiot!_

He hadn't realized he was speaking aloud until the armchair asked, "Now, master, what's got you all riled up?"

"I've ruined everything!" the Beast cried, and suddenly it all came pouring out- how he had realized he loved Eirian, how he had tried to discover if she felt the same way by proposing marriage, how she had refused.

"I've never felt so strongly about any woman," he confided, "not even Imogene, and I was sure I loved her."

"And you're quite sure this was your heart reacting, and not…your loins?" the armchair asked, phrasing delicately.

"Had it been my first sighting of her, I would doubt its validity, but after this long time…I am certain."

"Why, then, not simply tell her?"

"I don't want to frighten her with professions of love. If I scare her off…she's my last chance. I would die rather than remain this way forever."

"But if it's love, wouldn't you want her to know? If she doesn't know, you might lose her."

"Damned if I do, damned if I don't, I suppose," the Beast sighed. "And for all wants and purposes, I did."

"Have faith, master," the armchair comforted. "Perhaps some good will come out of this."

* * *

Cece ran, distraught, into her bedchamber.

"What's happened?" the hoe asked immediately.

"I've upset him, Father," she said, plopping down into an armchair. "He proposed to me, and like an idiot I gave him no answer. I asked if it would help him break the curse! And that was all I said to him! Oh, I sounded like a heartless monster, but at the time that was all I could think."

"Eirian-" the hoe began, but she cut him off.

"I would marry him, you know, to break his curse. I don't love him, I've told you that, but I would marry him, and perhaps I could come to love him…" she trailed off into dry sobs.

"You would marry a man you claim not to love, forgoing a life with the man you do love, and risking a loveless marriage, all to save the Beast?" the hoe asked. "That smacks of love to me."

"But it isn't!" Cece cried, sobbing again. "It's to break my curse too, and yours and Mother's. It would be for selfish reasons far more than for selfless reasons."

"You should talk to him," the hoe said.

Cece rose, rubbing her swollen, though dry, eyes. "I should! Oh, thank you, Father!" She dashed off without another word to the Beast's chamber.

* * *

_Bang bang bang!_

The Beast lifted his head, hope thrilling in his gut. Still, he held himself back from running to the door, although he knew Eirian was just outside.

"Beast!" called her voice, and another pang rippled through his belly. _And to think just her voice, calling the name she knows as mine, does all this to me,_ he thought.

"May I come in?" she asked, and suddenly the Beast remembered all that had just passed between them. He sank back onto the bed she had made him and faced the wall, trying to shut out her voice.

"Please, Beast, I need to talk to you about earlier," her melodious voice continued. "I'm sorry I responded the way I did. Please can you let me in?"

The Beast glanced at the armchair and shook his head.

"He won't come out, love," the armchair called.

"Beast, please talk to me. Please. I need to explain myself, and I can't if you won't let me in," he heard Eirian plead.

The Beast glanced at the armchair. He sensed it was giving him a "go ahead" glance. Still, he wasn't ready to see Eirian's face just yet.

"Eirian," he called, "we'll discuss this in the library. Will you meet me there?"

"Can't I come with you?" she asked, and he could hear relief in her voice.

"Please just meet me there." He listened to her light footsteps as she ran down the corridor. Once she was out of earshot, he opened the door and slipped out.

* * *

Cece paced anxiously. What was taking him so long? He'd promised to be here. She forced herself to sit in her usual chair- one she'd first ensured had not been human beforehand- but rose after only a few seconds and recommenced pacing. After what seemed like an age, the door opened and the Beast entered.

"Beast!" she cried, and flung her arms around his neck in a hug. He stiffened a bit at the contact, and she pulled away.

"Eirian," he said.

"No," she interrupted. "Let me speak. I would like to apologize for my abysmal response to your proposal. I acted like an uneducated peasant and not like I'd been decently raised. I should have given you a response first, one way or the other. My failure to do so shows and appalling lack of manners, for which I once again beg your forgiveness."

"There is nothing to forgive," the Beast replied softly. "I believe I, too, owe you an apology."

"I'm not quite done. I feel as though I should explain some things to you. Things that might help to explain my behavior.

"I told you that my parents and myself were tied to this curse. That is true. I also told you, however, that I am a noble lady, and that I don't know how my parents became tied to your castle. That is a lie.

"My name is Cecelia Tinker. My mother worked in your kitchen, and my father was a gardener here. I told you my name was Eirian because my mother wished to give me that name. I'm telling this all out of order and I'm sorry. My father is here. He was transformed into a hoe, and I found him. He's been with me most of the time. My mother managed to escape. I don't know what she was supposed to turn into, but her hand was inside the gate when the curse struck, and it was turned to glass. She was pregnant with me. She ran into the village where a tinker took her in. That's the man I've always known as my father. The glass from my mother's hand spread through the rest of her body. She turned completely into glass when I was born. I escaped mostly unscathed, except for my eyes.

"The tinker my mother lived with took me in. He kept her body in the hopes that someday the spell would break and she would live again. He told me all of this on my twentieth birthday, when I came into my majority. I decided to come here to break your curse and save myself and my family. So, when you proposed, my first thought was of them, and how maybe this would break their spell and mine. I'm so sorry for lying to you, but I thought you wouldn't speak to me at all if you knew I was below your rank."

"Eirian." The Beast's voice stopped her. "I've wondered for some time as to your nobility. I lived among nobles for most of my human life, and I'd never met one with such an obsession with cleaning." Cece smiled. "To be honest," the Beast continued, "I barely think of it anymore. I've stopped thinking of you as Lady Eirian, and instead as just Eirian."

"You're not angry?"

"I hate to admit it, but you're right. I never would have spoken to you, all those months ago, had I known you weren't noble. I am angry. But I'm not really sure whom I'm angry at, or what I'm angry about."

Cece nodded, looking at her feet. She didn't want to meet the Beast's eyes and see fury there, or hatred, or disgust, or any of the feelings she was sure he had.

"I have my own apology to make," the Beast said after a moment. "I acted impetuously and made you uncomfortable by doing so."

"It was an honest question," Cece interrupted.

"Even so. I ask that you forget that occurrence and that we never speak of it again."

Cece grinned. "Speak of what?" she asked playfully, and began giggling uncontrollably when the Beast tried to knock her over.

_I hope things don't change between us_, she thought seriously. _But I have a feeling they will._

* * *

Okay so the horizontal rules are still being retarded. So if there are like, five, I'm sorry, but there's nothing I can do.

So here is another chapter. As I said before. Now I need reviews. From you! So do it!

!--Mazzie--!

* * *


	19. A Warning

* * *

So I've updated again! And it hasn't been a super-long time. I love summer!

Anyway, I'll let you read first, and then I'll talk to you. ;)

* * *

**Chapter Nineteen: A Warning**

Cece sat in her room alone. Over a month had passed since the Beast's ill-fated proposal and her subsequent confession. June was just over the horizon, and the warm breeze teased her hair.

Cece had been right: things had changed between her and the Beast. While she tried earnestly to pretend nothing had happened, she could tell that he felt uncomfortable around her. And his discomfort made her uncomfortable. Still, she made an effort to spend time with him, walking in the gardens with him in the evenings, reading to him in the library, offering to eat with him. But she'd begun spending less time in the library and more time in her chambers. She spent her days talking to the hoe and watching Bastien and the tinker through the mirror.

She was lonely, mostly. Lonely for the Beast's company.

* * *

The Beast prowled the south wall again. He remembered another day in another time when he had paced this wall, and how that day had changed his life forever. He looked down at the road. It had fallen into disrepair, weeds and grasses growing so heavily on it that he could hardly tell it had once been a road. Young trees obscured his once-clear view of the village below. Although he knew people were less than half a mile away, he felt completely isolated.

The situation with Eirian didn't help much. Although he could tell she was trying so hard to pretend nothing had happened, he couldn't push himself to be normal around her. How could he, when every time she spoke his body thrilled, when the flash of light off her glass eyes made his heart melt? No, things between them would never again be the same as they had before. And now they'd taken to avoiding each other, which pleased neither of them.

The armchair was of little help. Although it tried to comfort him, its words meant little to his tortured psyche. What he needed was to scream, to howl, to cry his emotions to the moon like the wolves in the forest surrounding his castle. If his idea was not to scare off Eirian, this would be the worst action to take. So instead he kept everything chained tightly inside, where he could barely contain it.

And the voice in his dreams helped very little. Only the night before it had whispered mockingly to him Four more years…

He had woken in a terror that turned quickly into a rage. Any other time he would have found some furniture to shred, but with Eirian here…he couldn't offend her so. Instead he paced, ranting in a loud whisper, ostensibly at the armchair. At last, uncontrollable, he'd run into the garden and scraped a single tree free of bark. He then felt better.

"Do you know what happened to the oak tree in the west garden?" Eirian had asked that morning at breakfast- hers, not his. He ate his grotesque meals alone.

"You've been out in the gardens already?" he asked, not realizing he was giving himself away.

"So you did it," she had said teasingly.

"I had a rough night," he grumbled, and she laughed.

How could she now know what that laugh did to him? It sounded like a clear bell and drove each of his senses to dangerous acuity until he could hardly bear it.

And yet she'd brought it up again, later that afternoon as they sat in the library.

"Are you all right? You seem preoccupied," she'd said, concern in her voice.

"I…had a nightmare."

"Tell me about it."

"I'd rather not."

"Was it about your curse? I am trying, you know. I just have no idea how to break it." He could hear accusation in her tone, slight though it was.

He had almost told her. Four years was not long, certainly not long enough for another girl to come, especially if the first had taken twenty years. And he had little doubt Eirian would soon give up.

"Yes," he had said simply, and refused to say anything more about it.

Standing on the wall now, he looked out at the forest and the rooftops he could see through the foliage.

"Eirian," he murmured, "I love you, and I wish I could tell you, but I'm so afraid. Afraid that you won't love me back, or that you'll be scared away and leave me alone again. I wish I could just tell you that to break the curse, we need to fall in love, but I don't want to force you to fall in love with me. That's why I haven't told you. I hope someday you can come to love me, and that we can break this curse together. But right now that looks impossible. I-"

He heard a step behind him and whirled to see Eirian clambering up onto the wall beside him.

"The armchair said you might be here," she said. "What were you talking to yourself about?"

The Beast released an inward sigh of relief. She hadn't heard. But he wasn't sure if that was what he wanted. How could he want two such vastly different things at the same time?

"Just mumbling," he responded. "About the curse," his mouth continued without his permission. "I have only four more years to break it, as of last night."

"Is that why you've been so upset?" Eirian asked him. She flung her arms around his neck, and he reveled in her embrace. "Don't worry even a bit," she reassured him. "We'll solve this together. There must be something we haven't thought of."

There is, he thought. I haven't considered telling you how.

* * *

Cece watched the tinker and Bastien in her mirror again. Despite the tinker's stubbornness on the issue of moving into town, Bastien appeared to have done a good job in taking care of him throughout the winter- better than she, sightless as she was, could have. She owed Bastien thanks when she returned.

_When did I begin thinking of my return as something definite?_ she asked herself. Always, she had assumed she would stay here indefinitely. Always, she had thought she would break the curse. Now, she realized, she wasn't so sure.

A voice from the mirror caught her attention.

* * *

_"Are you so sure she'll return?" asked Bastien of the old tinker._

_"I am as sure as I can be. I know she is alive still, and I trust that she is trying her hardest to break the curse," the tinker replied. Cece realized they were speaking of her, and she smiled at the tinker's loyalty to her._

_"I had planned, by this time," Bastien continued, "to be married, or at least engaged, to her. I passed my twenty-first birthday yesterday. She will pass hers in only a few months, and she will have been gone a year. How can we trust the monster hasn't killed her?"_

_"Do you feel that she is dead?"_

_"I do not trust my feelings. But yes, I believe she is alive. And yet she sends us no word to reassure us."_

_"How, pray, would she send a message? As I recall, there are no servants in the palace capable of transmitting a message, and Cece cannot write anyway."_

_"You're willing to simply trust she is alive?" Bastien asked, and Cece flinched at his tone._

_"I am," the tinker said, "and you should do the same."_

_"I cannot! Either the monster has killed her, or he keeps her captive. She would not spend so long apart from me else. Or from you. I know her, and she frets so about you. Had she been able, she surely would have returned for winter to care for you."_

_"If this is your belief, what do you plan to do?" _

_"I shall go to the castle myself and find this beast. I shall find out what happened to my mother, and then I shall kill the monster."_

_Cece's heart clenched. Bastien, kill the Beast? Surely not!_

_"Would it matter to you if I advised against it?" the tinker asked after a moment._

_"I have considered this course of action for a long time now. When she did not return after a week, I began to worry. After a month, I began to plan. But I've remained patient until now. I love her, tinker, and if any harm has come to her I shall avenge her."_

* * *

Cece laid the mirror down in horror. She could not let this happen. She sprang up and began pacing, thinking furiously. She forced herself to calm down.

_I cannot tell the Beast of this threat, for all he would do is lie in wait for Bastien and kill him. And the Beast cannot know about Bastien. He loves me, and the knowledge that I love another would kill him, she thought._

At last she decided what to do, and ran off to tell the Beast.

* * *

"I must leave you," Eirian said.

The Beast's heart skipped a beat. He stopped breathing. Eirian, leaving?

"Why?" he asked finally, his voice strangled.

She hesitated. "It's…my father. He's ill. I saw it in the mirror. And I have to tend to him." She seemed to gain confidence toward the end of her speech.

The Beast nodded. He knew how close Eirian was to her father; she spoke of him often.

"He seems badly ill?" he asked, trying to delay her departure.

"Worse than I've ever seen him. He may even die." She was so upset she couldn't even look him in the eye.

"Will-" he stopped, began again. "Will you come back?"

Eirian's breath hitched in a sob. "I don't know. I'll try to, but I don't know how long it will take him to recover."

"Eirian," he said gently. He felt awful- she was so upset, and all he could do was worry that she would return to him. He leaned gently against her leg, and she bent down and wrapped her arms around his neck, sobbing tearlessly into his fur.

When she had recovered herself a bit more, she drew away. "I will miss you, Beast," she said, and the words almost set her off again.

"Take the mirror," he suggested. "Then you can see me whenever you miss me too much."

She gave him a wobbly grin. "I won't be able to see outside the castle, Beast. Your mirror will be of little use to me. No, keep it, and I will take comfort in knowing you are watching me."

She embraced him again, and the Beast's heart broke again. She was really leaving. He followed after her, but she bade him to stay behind.

"I don't need the pain," she said. "I want to remember you here, in our library, just like always."

Obediently, he sat and waited until she was out of earshot. Then he dashed onto the balcony and watched her walk resolutely around the corner of the castle. He climbed a drainpipe, which groaned under his weight, up to the roof and watched her walk out the small servant's gate she had entered, her little pack on her back. The gate closed, and the Beast let out a keening cry, a piercing mix of howl and roar, loud and carrying, that he was sure everyone within twenty miles could here. When he had finished, he thought he heard an answering sob from the surrounding woods.

She was gone.

* * *

So a nice long chapter, for once. Well, not for once, but for the first time in a long time. And this chapter's not even that long. Eh.

Plot advancement! Yay! Always a good thing.

I sense I'm in for a few scoldings and "oh noes!" so I'll let you get on with it.

!--Mazzie--!

* * *


	20. Home Again

Hey hey. Sorry about the wait, this chapter was abysmally hard to write, for some reason.

* * *

**Chapter Twenty: Home Again**

Although Cece had tried to prepare herself for her return to blindness, the actual feeling was disorienting after so many months of sight. She staggered around, trying to remember the way back to the tinker's cottage. She knew, logically, that the afternoon was verging on evening, and she had no way of knowing if she could find her way back. Still, she forced herself not to panic.

Oh, what have I done? she worried. I left him, and I lied, and I never told him I would return. She pushed the thoughts away. Now, she had to get home to prove to Bastien that she wasn't dead, and thus to save the Beast's life. Then, if she could, she'd slip away and return to the castle to break the spell…

The Beast let out a mighty roar, one infused with pain and sorrow. Cece's thin veneer of control shattered. She began sobbing again, loudly. Not concentrating, she tripped over her own feet on the uneven path and fell to her knees. She stayed there for a while, trying to regain control.

"I'm so sorry, Beast," she whispered. "So, so sorry."

When at last she had composed herself, she stood and began walking in what she hoped was the direction of home. She tried to get back into her rhythms of feeling with her feet, but she felt lost, and she stumbled often. She could feel the approaching chill of night and tried to hurry. Wolves roamed this forest at night, and she did not want to be caught blind by them. Her hurry disadvantaged her, however, and suddenly she found herself falling. Her head cracked hard on something, and she lost consciousness in a haze of pain.

* * *

"What's upset you so, Master?" the armchair asked as soon as he entered the room. It had heard his roar, of course.

"She's gone," the Beast replied. "I let her go. Her father's ill, she said."

"You let her go?"

"She asked to go. What else could I say?"

"Will she return?"

"I don't know. She doesn't know."

"And the curse?"

"I know about the curse! She was the one to break it, the only one in twenty years. I have four years left, and I let my only chance leave! Why? Why do I do such things?" the Beast began berating himself.

"What else were you to do?" the armchair asked him. "Had you made her stay, she would have resented you, and she could never love you. You've done the right thing, for her at least."

"But she's gone," the Beast moaned. "I'm a monster forever."

"Nonsense! She'll return if she can."

"She can't see outside the castle! How will she find us again?"

"She's found us before, hasn't she? She'll be back, Master. She'll break this curse yet."

A sudden realization hit the Beast. "She can't see outside the castle! What if she's in danger?" He ran for his mirror, but the armchair's voice stopped him.

"Don't worry yourself, Master. She's a smart girl. Watching for her will only upset you more," it suggested reasonably. "Rest, Master. You'll feel better in the morning."

The armchair's words made sense, and the Beast forced himself to lie on his bed- the bed she had made for him- and try to sleep. He tossed and turned all night, and got no sleep whatsoever.

* * *

Cece woke groggily, her head thick. Where was she? She was not in her bed, or anywhere she knew. She sat up, too fast, as blood rushed to her head and it throbbed painfully. Crickets. She heard crickets. Night, then, or evening. The ground beneath her was hard and uneven- the woods? Why did her head ache so? Where was home? She stood and stumbled, managing to find a tree with her hands so she did not fall to the ground again. She leaned on the tree, breathing heavily, until her head stopped pounding and she could try to walk. The ground lurched beneath her and she fell retching to her knees.

When she had finished emptying her stomach, she struggled to rise again. Every part of her wanted to sleep, but if she was in the woods, she needed to get home. Father would be worried. Why hadn't he come for her? Why was she in the woods? The tinker would never have so left her alone. What had happened?

She began to wobble unsteadily in a direction she hoped was home.

* * *

Bastien rose early, as was his custom, but unlike most mornings, he spent this one checking and rechecking his sword, polishing and sharpening it with a whetstone. He could hear the tinker bustling around downstairs and knew he should help, but his quest was far more important.

Finished with his preparations, Bastien sheathed and belted his sword, then grabbed the small box containing Cece's ring and pocketed it. If she was still alive, he hoped to give it to her someday. If not…well, it could stand as a memento of his first true love.

The tinker looked up as he climbed down the ladder. "You're really going through with this?" he asked, and Bastien nodded.

"I have to. For myself as much as for Cece," he replied.

The tinker shook his head. "There's no reasoning with you," he muttered loudly.

Bastien smiled grimly as he left. He knew, or had a rather good idea of, where the castle was, and he set off in that direction. When he reached the woods he found a meandering path that, though little more than an animal track, appeared to lead to the castle. He began to follow it, whistling rather tunelessly to himself. Despite the grimness of his quest, he couldn't help but be cheery. At last he was _doing_ something. All these past months he'd lingered at the tinker's house, waiting for Cece. He'd eventually sent Isaac and his men back to the capital with a message to the King that he needed a few more months to complete his quest. He'd heard nothing back, but the guards hadn't returned, either, so his grandfather didn't seem to mind his extended visit. While he had waited and chafed under the waiting, he had learned some tinkering, which he knew he would most likely never use. Still, it kept him from dying of boredom.

A glimpse of something pale in the bushes made Bastien stop whistling and bend down to investigate. It appeared to be a hand- _a body, oh God! _he thought- and when he reached for it he recognized Cece.

"Oh, no," he breathed. He pushed the bushes aside to uncover her prone body. Frantically, he pulled her free. Her forehead and much of her face was blackened with blood, but, to his relief, she was breathing.

"Cece?" he asked, shaking her gently. She roused slightly.

"Bastien?" she murmured blearily, then, "don't kill him."

"I won't," he replied, but she was already unconscious again. He picked her up and carried her back toward home.

* * *

The tinker bent achingly over the garden. Normally Cece would have tended the tomatoes, carrots, strawberries, and other assorted plants they grew, but of course she was at the castle. The tinker knew she was still there. Although he was not her biological father, he had raised her and knew he would know if the worst had happened to her. Until then, he cared for her beloved garden for her.

As he straightened painfully, the tinker saw Bastien coming up the path. "Back so soon?" he asked sarcastically, but hurried over as soon as he noticed the limp form in the young prince's arms.

"What happened?" he asked frantically, noting the blood on her face.

"I found her like this, in the woods," the prince replied.

"Let's get her inside. Put her in my room," instructed the tinker. His was the ground floor room, and he knew he could no longer navigate the ladder up to Cece's room in the attic. He could sleep on a mat on the floor until she recovered, he was sure.

When they had settled her down and washed her face clean of blood, the two men waited in the kitchen for Cece to awaken.

"She's so thin," commented Bastien.

"She looks as though she's eaten, though," the tinker replied. "I doubt they had much food through the winter, and there's no staff to serve her. She doesn't know how to cook."

"It's a miracle she's alive."

"Not a miracle. Cece's tough."

"I suppose she is."

The two fell silent. Noon came and went, marked only by the tinker's attempt to get Bastien to eat. Finally, in midafternoon, Cece woke.

"Cece!" Bastien cried excitedly, rushing to embrace her before the tinker grabbed his arm.

"She's probably a little disoriented," he said, and surely enough Cece's expression was confused.

"Bastien?" she asked. "Why are you here?"

"What do you remember?" the tinker asked.

She thought for a moment, touched her forehead lightly with her fingers. "I was in the woods, and my head hurt, and I was trying to get home. Before that…you told me about Mother, and I was upset…what happened?"

"You don't remember anything?" Bastien asked.

"I don't," she said. "What day is it? How long has it been?"

"Cece," the tinker said gently, "it's June. You've lost almost a year."

* * *

Oh no! Yes, yell at me. Whatever. Just review!

In other news, I have a laptop now! Which means that nice little vacays won't impede my updating (as in, I can write and update on vacation, but it will still be delayed because I have better things to do.) So yay!

I'ma tell you again, review!

!--Mazzie--!

* * *


	21. Travel

New chapter! Yay!

* * *

**Chapter 21: Travel**

The tinker and Bastien sat in the kitchen while Cece slept.

"So what are you going to tell her?" the tinker asked. "The truth?"

"I can't tell her the truth. She'll just go back to that monster," Bastien replied sullenly. "I'll just have to make something up."

"How are you going to fill in nine months?" the tinker asked. "And how are you going to keep the rest of the town from telling the truth?"

Bastien put his head in his hands. "I don't know. I really don't know. But I'll think of some way to do it."

* * *

"How are you feeling?" Bastien asked anxiously as soon as Cece opened her eyes.

She brushed her fingers across her forehead and winced. "Better, but my head still hurts," she said softly.

"Listen," he said, "as soon as you feel up to moving, we're going to the capital. We have the best physicians there, and maybe one of them can help you remember."

Cece nodded, her face to the ceiling. "That sounds good. I can meet your family. But what about Papa?"

"He doesn't want to come. He'll stay here- he promised he'd go down to the inn to stay with Miranda and Freddy. He says not to worry."

She smiled. "And yet he's worried sick, isn't he?"

"A bit." Bastien grinned, and as if she sensed it, Cece grinned too.

"Bastien?" she called as he turned to leave.

"What?"

"What can you tell me, about all that time?"

Bastien colored, grateful she couldn't see him. "I decided to stay with you, and I sent my guards home to tell my father so. Your father taught me tinkering, and you laughed at me when I made mistakes. In spring you planted your garden. Then a few days ago we went for a walk in the woods, and when I wasn't watching you, you tripped and bumped your head."

"That doesn't seem like much," she said.

"No," Bastien murmured. "In the telling, it doesn't. But it was a lot."

Cece smiled, and he wondered if she'd picked up on his hint.

* * *

A week passed, and Cece declared herself well enough to travel. She'd begun walking around the house and had suffered no ill effects. Still, Bastien refused to let her ride a horse, instead buying a cart for her to ride in.

"I'm not an invalid!" she protested, laughing, when Bastien set her down in it. "I can ride well enough!"

Still, between the tinker and the prince, Cece was convinced to rest in the cart. Both filled it with a thick layer of straw and laid several blankets on top so the ends wouldn't bother her. She insisted on climbing into the back herself, however, and the two were forced to agree.

"Are you sure you don't want to come, Papa?" she asked. "There's plenty of room."

The tinker smiled. "No, Cece. I'm too old to travel, and what would I do at a palace? No, you go, and I'll stay and wait for you to come home."

Cece sighed and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. "I'll miss you, Papa," she said. Then, with Bastien's help, she clambered into the wagon and settled herself. Bastien sat in the front seat to drive the horse, and without further ado they started off toward the village.

* * *

The journey, which had taken a couple of weeks on horseback, stretched into a month with the slow wagon. Bastien chafed under the slow pace, but Cece seemed to enjoy it. Besides her stay at the castle, which she didn't remember, she had never left her town before. She talked cheerily to innkeepers, barmaids, and stableboys- anyone they came into contact with, in fact. She couldn't see their stares when they saw her eyes, and so she paid no mind to any oddness in interaction. At first, the furtive glances in her direction had infuriated Bastien, but slowly he had become accustomed to them, and as Cece didn't mind, he forced himself to ignore them.

When they arrived at the capital, Cece insisted on sitting up in the front of the cart with Bastien.

"I want to smell and feel the city for myself," she said. "I've never been anywhere even half so big, and I don't want to experience it from the back of a cart."

Although the cut on her forehead had healed into an angry-looking scar and the tenderness and swelling had long since ceased, Bastien was anxious about Cece overstraining herself. Still, she was stubborn, and he agreed.

"Describe it for me," she demanded with a smile. "I want to be able to picture it."

She had often made such requests, to Bastien's great surprise. Before her trip- he refused to think of it as anything else- she had never asked such things, but ever since her return she had wanted everything described, even her own home and garden. The tinker believed, superstitiously, that Cece had been able to see in the castle, since her eyes were part of the curse.

"Well," Bastien began awkwardly. "The road is paved with cobblestones, and they're a sort of gray-ish blue, I suppose. All along the road there are these stalls, where people sell things like fruit and jewelry and cloth. The stalls have cloth awnings over them, and those are all different colors like red and blue and purple. And the road is extremely crowded because it leads to the gate, which we just went through, and it's a straight shot to the palace. You can see it straight down the road- well, I guess _you_ can't, but most people can."

Cece giggled. "Tell me about the palace!"

"It has its own walls, and they clean them so they're sparkling white. All along the top of the walls guards patrol to make sure nothing horrible's going on in the town. Inside the castle is made of pale gray stone, and when it's high noon or full moon it glows, almost. It has four towers, and the roofs are blue, and the flags over them are blue and red, with the royal seal in them…" As Bastien continued, he realized he was talking more from fond memory than about what he was actually seeing.

They reached the palace gates without incident, although their arrival caused some excitement.

"Your name, sir," a guard had asked, and when Bastien replied jovially with, "Bartholomew! Surely I haven't been gone so long!", the man had excitedly embraced his prince.

"And who's the young lady?" he asked.

"This is Cece, Cecelia Tinker, from the village where I was staying. She recently suffered an injury and lost a good deal of her memory, and I've brought her here to see if the doctors can do anything for her," Bastien replied. "Cece, this is Bartholomew, one of my closest friends. We often tried to kill each other in fencing class."

Bartholomew laughed. "I wouldn't say it was anything so drastic as that, my lord, although I did disarm you several times."

"And that's why you're charged with protecting me, and not the other way around. Can you tell my father I've arrived while I find a room for Cece?"

"As you wish, my lord."

Bastien pulled the carriage into the yard, where a stableboy took charge of the horses and another grabbed their luggage, to protests from Cece.

"Really, it's only one bag. I can carry it," she said when the boy tried to take it from her.

"Cece, that's what he's here for. He'll take it to your room, which they should be preparing even now. Don't worry, you'll see it again," Bastien reassured her.

"I'm not worried about him losing it, I'm just sure he has better things to do than carry for perfectly able-bodied women!"

"Never you worry, mum," the boy replied. "I do this all day, and it's no bother to carry bags for such a lovely lady as you."

Cece relented with a smile, which was when the stableboy noticed her eyes. He backed away, gave a hurried bow, and took off quickly. Cece sighed.

"I thought I was used to such reactions," she said softly, and Bastien took her arm.

"Don't worry about it," he said. "You're my personal guest, and anyone who takes offense to that will have to deal with me."

* * *

The King sent for his grandson and his mysterious lady guest to come as soon they had cleaned up from their journey. He waited in his private sitting room, seated in a large armchair before the fire. Normally he would have paced, but at his age such movement was painful. Instead he tapped his fingers impatiently. How much did Bastien know? Did the girl know anything, and if so, what had she told the prince? He knew very little about what had become of his delinquent brother, and his curiosity had faded, although his anger hadn't. He still seethed when he thought of his brother's betrayal- with his daughter, no less! Although he loved his grandson, he considered him something of an abomination, and always searched for some sign that the child had been conceived in sin.

At last a messenger announced the prince and a Miss Cecelia Tinker. Painfully, the King rose to greet them.

"My grandson," he said gently, and Bastien bowed. "And Miss Tinker."

"Please, call me Cece," she said, and impertinently did not look at him or curtsy. The King glanced at Bastien, who gave him an "I'll explain later" look.

"Have you settled yourself, Cece?" the King asked.

"Quite," she replied, staring straight past him. "I didn't really have much to bring. The room seems lovely though."

_Seems?_ thought the King. It was then that he noticed how oddly the light reflected in her eyes, and realized they were made of glass. His face remained carefully schooled in a neutral, polite expression, despite the shock he felt. One rumor of his brother that he had heard was that every one of his castle staff had somehow become inanimate. Surely her eyes were not natural, surely she was part of his brother's curse. But how much did she know?

He noticed that he had been silent for too long. "You'll forgive me if I sit, I'm sure?" he asked unnecessarily, as he planned on sitting anyway. Bastien motioned at him to go ahead, and he eased his creaking bones into a chair. "Please, sit," he said. He rang for tea, and while they ate he received a full report of his grandson's journey, how he had met Cece, and what he had done all winter.

At last Cece asked to be excused, pleading a headache. As he excused her, the King noticed Bastien's worried look and deduced their relationship. As soon as she had left, he confronted his grandson.

"You love her, don't you?" he asked. Bastien started, then nodded.

"I have since I first met her," he said. "She's so different, and she doesn't care that I'm a prince."

"How did she come by those eyes?"

"She was born with them. Her mother narrowly escaped the curse placed on my mother and father."

The King flinched. "Speaking of your quest, what have you discovered?" he asked.

"Unfortunately, not much. When I arrived, I became sidetracked by Cece, and before I left for the castle, she decided to go on her own, to break her curse."

"What did she find out?"

"I don't know. As she was leaving- I assume, although the monster might have thrown her out- she managed to hit her head and lose all memory of that time."

"Monster?"

"Her father- well, the man who raised her- went to the castle himself soon after the curse was cast, over twenty years ago. He said that whatever noble lived there had been transformed into a horrible beast."

The King sighed. "My son, forgive me. I am old and tired, and I am sure you too are exhausted from your journey. I must excuse myself."

Bastien stiffened at being called the King's son, an epithet he hadn't had since he'd been told the truth. Still, he nodded, bowed, and turned to leave.

"Father?" he asked, and the King glanced over at him.

"I intend to marry her," Bastien said. "May I have your blessing?"

"Bastien, you will have to wait until she regains her memories. She might have changed during that time, although she doesn't remember. It is wiser to wait until the physicians have seen her before you propose," the King said, although inside he was panicked. His heir, marry a peasant? They may be in love, but imagine the talk in court! Although, because of the legend surrounding his birth, few noble women wanted to marry him…

"Of course, Father," the prince said, and without another word he slipped out.

* * *

Okay, so I'm updating now because I leave tomorrow, and even though I supposedly won't have wifi, I'm fairly certain I will. However, free time is a different deal. So I'm not promising anything, because it might be two weeks.

Anyway. New characters! It's been a while since we saw those. And this chapter's a bit longer than most of my other ones, so that's good...I think.

Anyway, leave me love and I'll get back to you!

!--Mazzie--!


	22. Mysteries

* * *

**Chapter 22: Mysteries **

Things were lonely without Eirian. Before she'd come, the Beast hadn't seemed to notice it, but with her gone it was painfully evident. He had no one to talk to but the armchair, and he couldn't very well read, since turning pages was an impossibility. He even- and he shuddered to think it- worried about the light coating of dust the castle was beginning to acquire. He had struggled- only briefly, but it was still a struggle- to restrain himself from cleaning it.

The armchair tried, at first, to talk to him as Eirian had, but it had failed miserably. Like Eirian, it seemed to be able to read his thoughts, but unlike her it approached them more as a mother would than as a friend.

He loved Eirian, and her absence wasn't enough to stop that.

The first few days after her departure, he had waited anxiously for her to come back. He watched the road through the woods, although he knew she would come through the servants' entrance as she had before. He had also feared that his roar, the first sign of his existence in over twenty years, would bring the townspeople against him, but he had yet to see a soul. Perhaps some superstition had kept them away.

After a week or so, he had given up on her. He'd stopped pacing incessantly along the walls and begun instead pacing his room, the halls, the library, and the gardens. He spent most of his time out of his room, however, because the armchair fretted when he paced. And the gardens…every time he saw the neat little rows of vegetables Eirian had planted, he felt that much sadder. They would go to waste, now, as he had no taste for vegetables.

Despite the temptation, he steered away from watching her in the mirror. He knew the minute he started he wouldn't stop, and that he'd begin spending his days watching Eirian eat, sleep, and live her separate life. While of course he hoped her father was recovering, he couldn't help but wish he would hurry up or die already, so he could have her back. He knew it was selfish, but he couldn't help his thoughts.

"Master," the armchair said one day as he paced his room impatiently, "why not simply look in the mirror. You could see how she is, what she's doing, maybe even gauge when she'll be back."

"You know why I can't," the Beast replied irritably. He was often irritable these days.

"Master, it's been two months. Surely she'll come soon. You could discover when and prepare for her arrival."

He did not miss this subtle hint that the castle needed cleaning, but he chose to ignore it.

"What if she lied?" he asked. "What if she just wanted to leave, so she left?"

"Master," the armchair said softly. "She knew she could leave freely, but she told you first. I saw how she acted around you. She cares for you. She wouldn't have lied just to leave you."

The Beast let out a huff of air. "I'll look," he said, "but I won't like what I see."

* * *

He chose the library to watch her. It felt right, somehow. He'd left the mirror here, anyway, when Eirian had given it to him, and he didn't trust himself to carry it anywhere else.

"Show me Eirian," he whispered unnecessarily when he gingerly picked up the mirror.

* * *

_A flurry of colorful skirts enveloped Eirian as she sat serenely in a chair._

_"Are you Miss Tinker?" one of the girls asked excitedly. "I'm Francesca, and these are my sisters, Maria and Isabel."_

_"We can introduce ourselves, Francesca," one of the girls said irritably. "I'm Isabel."_

_"I'm Maria!" piped in the youngest-looking._

_"I'm pleased to meet you, Highnesses," Eirian said softly. "My name is Cecelia, but you can call me Cece."_

_"Oh, that's such a pretty name," Maria breathed. _

_"Does Bastien call you that?" asked Isabel, to titters from her sisters._

_"Of course he does. We're good friends."_

_The three girls exchanged a knowing look._

_"Would you like to walk in the garden with us, Miss Tinker?" Francesca asked after a moment._

_"I'd be delighted, but I'm afraid you'll have to describe things to me. I'm blind, but I like to picture things," Eirian smiled. The Beast vaguely recalled her saying something of the sort to him, but he was wrapped up in watching her._

_"Of course, dear," said Isabel. "Maria is quite good at descriptions."_

_"I am, you know," Maria chirped. "My tutor always says my writing is very descriptive."_

_The four girls left the room together, and the Beast moved to set down the mirror._

* * *

_The scene changed. Instead of the giggling girls, a young man stood with an older man, conversing._

_"You're really not going to tell her?" the older man asked._

_"Of course not! If she knew, she'd feel obligated to go back. You didn't see her, Isaac. She was so thin and pale," the younger man replied._

_"Wasn't she also concussed at the time?"_

_"It doesn't matter. She's happy, I'm happy, and she never has to know."_

_"She'll find out somehow, my lord. They always do."_

_"I can't let her go back to that- that monster, Isaac. The night before I found her, I was outside walking, and I heard this roar. It was incredibly loud and angry. I had already decided to find Cece, but this made me more determined. I know it was that monster. He probably threw her out!"_

_"My lord, I don't know if you've thought this all the way through," Isaac said sensibly. "How can you be sure she wasn't happy there, if she doesn't remember?"_

_The young nobleman, for such he clearly was, frowned. "I can't. But I can make her happy here, and she's happy either way."_

_"She'll find out, my lord. You mark my words."_

_"Always, Isaac."_

* * *

The Beast set the mirror down, confused. Eirian appeared to be at some sort of castle, calling herself Cece. It sounded familiar, but he couldn't place it. But what was she doing there? She'd told him her father was sick, and he knew she didn't live in a castle. She had told him herself! Had she lied to him?

And what did that second scene mean? Who was that young man? He felt certain they were speaking of Eirian, but what did he mean about telling her? Was he the monster the young man spoke of?

Watching Eirian had left him only with more questions, and now he felt more irritable than before. He prowled around the castle, steering clear of his room; he was in no mood for the armchair's wisdom today.

* * *

Cece could not keep a foolish grin off her face. She loved Bastien's sisters- aunts. As they walked around the garden, she was peppered with questions, mostly from the romantic Isabel. She answered them all as truthfully as possible, avoiding only questions about her eyes and the time she had forgotten. Something told her she shouldn't spread the story of the curse on her eyes. But the girls kept her mind far from such things.

Francesca, the oldest, was seventeen and clearly the leader. Isabel often tried to act the oldest, but her inherent romanticism revealed her youth. Little Maria was giggly and happy at fourteen, and she was the most energetic of the three. Her sisters hadn't lied about her power of description- Cece could almost picture the gardens they walked through. She was far better at it than Bastien.

Her mind's eye continued to picture an old, decrepit garden filled with weeds and overgrown bushes. She felt somebody at her side as she pictured this, and heard herself laughing. She didn't understand this at all. Could this be one of her memories? But how could she see? And where was she? Surely this hadn't happened. Bastien had told her…it must be a dream.

She was distracted by her thoughts when Isabel asked, "Are you in love with Bastien?"

"What? I- I don't know, I suppose. I'm very good friends with him, and I like him a lot, but I don't know what love feels like," Cece replied.

"We won't tell him," Maria said. "Tell us!"

_"I'm already in love with someone else… a prince, and I believe he loves me too…his name is Bastien, and he is the king's own grandson._"

Cece put a hand to her head. She could hear her own voice saying those words, but she didn't remember whom she had been talking to or when she had said them. Perhaps during the time she'd forgotten? But she wouldn't have had to remind anyone she talked to at home of Bastien's identity.

Perhaps the experience wouldn't be so nerve-wracking if it was the first time. But since her accident Cece had been dreaming of things she didn't remember, things that couldn't have happened. And this was her second one in only a few moments. Her forehead ached as if in protest to her remembrance, and she forced it from her thoughts.

"Are you all right?" asked Francesca worriedly.

"I'm fine," Cece replied. "And, to be honest, I think I do love Bastien."

* * *

So I don't feel like leaving an author's note at the beginning...I'm trying to move away from that.

I know I said I wouldn't be updating, and I feel like such a jerk because I always do this instead of talking to my roomie, but if you noticed today is _Glass_' first birthday! So I'm kind of excited (don't know about y'all), and so I decided to update, which meant a lot of writing here. Haha.

So what do we think of the princesses? And now Isaac's back (I don't know about you, but I love Isaac).

Yeah. Leave me a review. And wish this story a happy birthday.

!--Mazzie--!


	23. A Royal Tea

**Chapter 23: A Royal Tea**

"Cece, do you know how to read?" asked Maria. Francesca jabbed her in the ribs.

"Of course she doesn't," she hissed to her younger sister. "She's blind!"

Maria gasped. "I'm so sorry, Cece!" she cried. "I didn't mean to upset you!"

Cece smiled fondly. She really didn't mind at all- she was quite used to the younger girl's questions. "It's fine, Maria," she said. "I can't read, but I've always wanted to learn."

Isabel and Francesca exchanged glances. They knew it was impossible for a blind girl to learn to read.

"Would you read to me?" Cece asked. The younger girl loved to read, and she had a lovely speaking voice. Cece enjoyed Maria's descriptions as they explored; she felt like she could picture whatever the princess talked about. She was sure Maria would love to read to her.

Francesca blurted, "I don't think that's a good idea," but hardly were the words out of her mouth when Maria agreed happily.

The three princesses had become Cece's near constant companions. At first, Francesca had seemed to regard Cece as something of a burden, her brother's blind peasant love whom she had to watch over. Now, however, she enjoyed Cece's company just as much as Maria did. Isabel was simply swept away by the romance of Bastien's affair, as she termed it in her head. Maria loved that the older woman did not treat her as a child, but as an adult, something she had yet to experience.

The girls walked slowly to the girls' private study, where they spent any time they weren't out in the garden. Maria kept up a cheery description.

"The hallway is really tall, and you can't even see the ceiling. The walls are papered blue with gold fleurs-de-lis, but there are some darker water stains because the paper hasn't been replaced in a few years. There are fat gray columns all along the hall, and torches in between, but they're not lit. There's a new spiderweb up at the top of one of the columns on the left. It's really pretty, but it'll be gone by later."

Cece tuned her out a bit as she realized they were taking a different route from the one they usually took. Although she made no comment, she wondered if Maria was misleading her, and why.

The girls reached a huge set of double doors at the end of a short hall. Francesca pulled it open- although this room was rarely used, the hinges were well oiled, and the door came easily. Cece felt the shift beneath her feet from the carpeted stone floor of the hall to a polished wood in whatever room this was. The echoes of their footsteps and Maria's cheery voice told her the room was large and airy, and she could feel sunlight on her skin.

"Where are we?" she asked, and her words echoed softly and came back louder to her ears.

Maria couldn't resist a giggle. "This is our classroom. Not our real one, where we learn reading and math and embroidery. It's where we learn stuff like dancing and how to curtsy and how to talk with your fan."

"Talk with your fan?" Cece asked, but Francesca butted in before anyone could clarify.

"Bastien asked us to bring you here. Father and Mother want to meet you, but they can't until you've learned court manners. So we're supposed to teach you."

"I can't do any of those things!" Cece cried. "I've never been taught to dance, and I've never even held a fan, and it wouldn't matter if I could talk with it, because I'd need to see it!"

"That's why we're teaching you instead of our teacher," Maria said. "We can show you by moving you so you learn. Our teacher's an old man, and he likes teaching dance a little too much, if you understand my meaning."

Francesca swatted her sister. "Maria!"

"Well," Maria said petulantly, "he does!"

"Either way," Isabel said, "you need to learn if you're going to live here. I mean, the summer season's almost over, so soon all the nobles will be leaving, but they'll be back for the Yule parties! By then they'll expect you to know these things. Especially if-" Again Francesca's hand quieted her sister.

Still, Cece caught the words. "If what?"

"Nothing," Francesca said sharply. "Let's start with a curtsy."

By the end of two hours Cece had learned to curtsy well enough to please the three sisters. "It's better than Maria's," said Isabel, causing her sister to squeal in protest.

"It is, I think," a deeper voice said, and Cece whirled toward it. Bastien laughed. "You've done well, you three," he said kindly to his sisters.

"How long were you watching?" Cece asked, slightly mortified as she remembered various times where she'd overbalanced and fallen flat on her face.

"Not long. I'm surprised no one noticed me come in."

"It's very rude to enter a room without knocking, especially when there are ladies inside," Maria scolded playfully.

"You're my sisters. I hardly think it matters," Bastien replied, embracing the younger girl.

"We haven't seen enough of you since you got back," Francesca said. "We've yet to hear about your quest."

"You will. Part of the reason I came was to inform all three of you that Father and Mother wish to have tea with all four of you tomorrow afternoon. Mother is most anxious to meet Cece, and both are ready to hear about my trip. Unless, of course, you three aren't interested?"

"Of course we are, ninny," Isabel said. "I want to hear all about you and Cece."

"I'll see you tomorrow then," Bastien said. "Now get back to your lesson!"

They waited until the door clicked shut behind Bastien to giggle excitedly and embrace Cece.

"You're going to meet Mother and Father! It will be simply marvelous!" Maria said, bouncing excitedly.

"We'll get to hear everything about you and Bastien that you won't tell us!" Isabel said.

"You'll have to learn how to address a king," Francesca said soberly, and all three princesses released Cece and recommenced their lesson.

* * *

"How do you address a king?" Francesca asked Cece as the girls walked to the royal sitting room.

"Always call him 'Your Majesty', and speak respectfully," Cece recited. Such things had been drilled into her head yesterday.

"It's an informal tea, so most likely you can simply call us by our names, but otherwise what would you call us?" Isabel demanded.

"'Highness', 'Princess', or 'my lady'," Cece replied diligently.

"And Bastien?"

"My love," chimed Maria, to ensuing giggles.

"'Highness' or 'my lord', or possibly 'your majesty', as he is crown prince."

"Very good," Francesca praised her. "You'll be fine."

Cece hoped so. Although she wasn't quite sure of the color of her gown, she knew it was ridiculously lacy, constricting, and voluminous. She had borrowed it from Isabel, who was about her size. Her own wardrobe was still in the works, so she had nothing really suitable to wear. Mostly she'd worn her church gown, for it was fancy and well-maintained enough for her not to stand out as a peasant. She felt rather uncomfortable in Isabel's shoes, which pinched a bit; she would have preferred her bare feet, of course, but in the palace she'd taken to wearing her own comfortable old shoes. Today was too special an occasion for those ugly things, however, and so she was stuck in thin, flimsy, too-tight slippers.

One of her largest worries, however, was the tea itself. She trusted herself to act well in the presence of the king and queen, but from what she had experienced of royal china, it was light and easily broken, particularly by the fumbling fingers of a blind girl. At the same time, she wanted no special treatment and refused to let any of the royal children guide her hands.

"Don't look so afraid," Maria said soothingly. "Father and Mother are nice. They won't be bothered if you slip up. They know your situation."

Cece wasn't sure if Maria referred to her blindness or the fact that she was a peasant, but she felt a bit comforted nonetheless. "Thank you," she said, squeezing the princess' hand.

They arrived at the door to the sitting room and waited to be announced. When Cece entered, she realized this was not the same room she had first met the king in, or if it was something had changed. It was warm from the sun, not cooled by shadows. Perhaps a curtain had been drawn; either way it altered the room drastically.

"Welcome, my daughters," the king's voice called. "And Miss Tinker. Please, sit."

Cece felt the brush of air on either side of her as the princesses curtsied, so she did the same. Maria squeezed her hand again and guided her to a chair, where a servant helped her sit.

A short silence fell, during which Cece could hear the gentle slosh of tea being poured.

"Would you like anything in your tea?" Isabel asked- a formality only, as all three girls knew she liked two lumps of sugar and a bit of cream.

"If you would pass the sugar and the cream, please," Cece asked. She awkwardly filled her cup and managed to stir it without spilling. So far, all was going well.

"Miss Tinker," said a new voice, presumably Queen Rochelle, "please, tell us about yourself."

"As you wish, Your Majesty," Cece said. Her words felt false, as though she was pretending to be something she wasn't.

_I am the Lady Eirian._ she heard her voice say imperiously, although she couldn't recall the occasion.

"I live in a small village in the distant reaches of your kingdom. I was raised by the village tinker after my mother passed away when I was born. I've never met my real father. About a year ago now I met Bastien, and shortly after I entered my majority. Unfortunately I suffered an injury shortly before I came here and I can't remember much of what happened after my birthday." She gently brushed the scar on her forehead.

She sensed the queen's discomfort at her answer. Had she said something wrong?

"No, Mother," Bastien said hurriedly, "there was no child!"

Cece blushed furiously as she realized what the queen had inferred from her explanation.

"Oh, no, Your Majesty," she added. "I assure you, Bastien and I do not have that kind of relationship."

"Of course not, child," the queen said regally.

"Bastien, will you tell us about your journey?" asked Maria in an attempt to change the subject.

"Well," the prince began, "as you know, I went in search of my father and mother. I was distracted by Cece and decided not to leave her, so I gave up my quest and lived with her and her father through the winter. Then, when Cece lost her memory, I realized the most important thing was to help her remember. So I brought her here to our physicians to see if they could help her."

"But what did you learn?" Isabel asked.

"Little. Apparently my father was a cruel man fond of seducing young, beautiful women. My mother was simply another in a long string. According to local legend, he was transformed into a monster, and neither he nor anyone in his castle was seen again. Unfortunately, I never got a chance to explore the castle myself."

"That's horrible!" exclaimed the queen. "Your poor mother."

"I doubt Imogene was as innocent in the seduction as legend makes it seem," the king said bitterly.

Bits of memories flashed through Cece's head, mostly of a pained voice saying Imogene's name, of a brown velvet dress keeping her warm. She brushed her hand across her forehead again.

"Are you all right, Cece?" asked Maria.

"Fine," Cece replied, groping for her teacup to take a sip. All she managed to do, however, was knock the hot tea into the queen's lap.

"Oh!" the queen cried, and Cece began apologizing profusely. A servant arrived to escort the queen out and help her clean up. Cece, blushing furiously, kept her head down.

"It's my eyes, Your Majesty," Cece explained when the queen returned. "I was born blind. I've never been able to see."

And yet broken images of her own feet and hands refuted her statement. When had she ever been able to see?

"Your apology is accepted, my dear," Rochelle replied. "I was not forewarned of your condition and was therefore unprepared for it. But tell me, how did you come by such fascinating eyes?"

Cece told the version she knew, with a bit of help from Bastien. The queen apologized for her impolite question. The princesses' amazement was tangible. The king, who had heard the story before, remained silent.

At last the awkward tea ended and Cece allowed the princesses to lead her away. Before she crossed the threshold, however, Bastien caught her elbow.

"You did really well," he said softly into her ear. "I'm proud of you. And I apologize for my family."

And then, in front of everyone, he kissed her gently. All Cece could do was stand dazed until one of the girls- she didn't even know which- grabbed her elbow and pulled her away into a cloud of giggles.

* * *

I'm so sorry for how this chapter started, but I honestly couldn't think of another way to start it! I tried, I really did! But anyway.

This chapter was really princess-intensive. Which is cool (for me), because I like writing them. Thoughts on them, or the newly introduced queen Rochelle? Let me know.

As for Bastien (Don Juan haha)...how's that going down? Again, leave a review!

Um. So happy July. I have nothing else to say except leave me a review and I'll see you next update!

!--Mazzie--!


	24. The Royal Physician

**Chapter 24: The Royal Physician**

Cece soon discovered the truth to the princesses' allegations of their dancing instructor's character. Bastien hired the man specially to teach Cece any necessary skills she might need for her future here at court. Cece had been alarmed at his phrasing.

"My future at court? I thought I was only here until your physicians helped me recover my memory," she protested.

"Of course," Bastien said. "But I had hoped that you'd stay a while after that."

Cece had been unable to protest his sad tone, and when he kissed her only seconds after, she easily agreed to stay.

"But you know this relationship is hopeless," she said. "You're a prince, and I'm a peasant. The king won't let us marry."

Bastien sighed. "Actually, my father gave his blessing, but only after you recover your memory."

Bastien had lately slipped easily into calling the king his father, the queen his mother, and the princesses his sisters. Cece disapproved. She called the tinker "Papa", but she considered that more of a title. She knew he wasn't her real father, and if anyone asked, she told them so. Bastien seemed to have forgotten the mystery of his past that had always defined him to Cece. She wasn't sure if this was because he was back home, or because he was desperately trying to forget he'd ever known differently.

Cece had seen little in the way of physicians thus far. She had spent far more time with the princesses and the dance instructor, who did indeed have a tendency to rest his hands a bit too low on her waist.

The first time such a thing had happened, as the instructor was teaching her a basic waltz, she had had no idea how to react. It wasn't for several minutes, until Isabel noticed the look of discomfort on Cece's face, that she had forcibly scolded the man.

"We hired you to teach her dance, not to grope her!" Isabel said in a raised voice- never a yell. A lady did not yell. Still, her crude language drew gasps from her sisters. "If I catch you at it again, you will be fired and never hired again in this kingdom!"

The man had stopped resting his hand so low, but he continued pinching Cece there occasionally. Finally she slapped him, or tried to, during one of their lessons.

"Please! I've had enough of this!" she said. She had no compunctions about yelling, either. The dance master kept his hands to himself, and dolefully rubbed the tip of his nose, the only part of him Cece had managed to contact.

Cece, for her part, found dancing far easier than she'd expected. Perhaps ballroom dances were simply easier to learn than the folk dances of her village, or perhaps the old man, despite his affection for young ladies, was a very good teacher. Either way, she soon mastered- or looked slightly competent in- the waltz, the foxtrot, and the Charleston. Before long Bastien replaced the dance instructor, and he too was proud of her progress.

"Did you ever think you could dance this well?" he asked her.

Cece blushed to remember their first encounter at the Fall Festival. "No," she said honestly. "I thought I'd look like an idiot."

Bastien laughed. She'd noticed that he tended to laugh when he could simply smile, and assumed it was for her benefit. "You'll be surrounded by people doing exactly the same thing," he said. She could hear the smile in his voice. "You'll just look like one of the crowd."

"Not until her new wardrobe's finished!" Maria called from across the room. Cece had forgotten they were watching.

She had been wearing Francesca's clothes, as she was the closest in size to Cece. But her outfits tended to be a bit too long and a bit too tight across the chest. She looked forward to having clothes of her own to wear.

"They're to be done within a week," Bastien informed his aunt. "Don't be saucy with me!"

Their giggles echoed in the otherwise empty room.

* * *

At last the court's best physician returned from his journey. He had spent the last several weeks tending to the queen's aunt, who, unfortunately, had passed away. Cece spent a few lonely days in her room while the family attended the funeral.

However, once the royalty returned, Cece and Bastien met with the physician, a Doctor Moraney. He had Cece sit and told Bastien to wait outside.

"Miss Tinker," he pronounced. "That is your name, yes?"

"Please, call me Cece."

"Very well, Cece. I've been told you suffered an injury and lost a good deal of memory. Is that true?"

"Yes."

The physician's gently probing fingers brushed her forehead. "Yes, that looks like it was quite nasty. It's all better now, however."

"Yes."

"Do you remember how you injured yourself?"

"Well, Bastien says I-"

"I don't care what the prince says. Right now I want to know what you remember. What happened?"

"I don't know."

"Where were you found?"

"In the woods near our home. I don't remember why I was there."

"Very well. What is the last thing you remember before your accident?"

"It was my birthday. September 16. I was twenty, and Papa had told me the truth about my past."

"The truth? Could you elaborate on that?"

Cece sighed. "I was born with glass eyes, as you've probably noticed." The physician made a noise of acknowledgement. "I wasn't quite sure why that was, but Papa explained it to me. It appears that my real parents worked in the castle a little way from my village. When that castle was cursed, shortly before I was born, my father was trapped inside, but my mother escaped with a glass hand."

"Allow me to stop you. Could you explain this curse?"

Cece began. "Bastien's mother, Imogene, came to this castle to protect herself from a plague that had killed her mother and brother. Some noble lived there, and they began a love affair. Bastien was the product of this affair, and after his birth the entire castle was cursed, my parents included. According to Papa, my mother was overcome by glass shortly after my birth. She died, and I was born with glass eyes."

"What was your reaction when your father told you this story?"

"I was angry. I ran to a hill I liked to spend time at when I needed to think. I stayed there for a few hours. Then I went back home."

"Is that all?"

"All that I can think of." Cece wrinkled her forehead trying to remember something else.

"What did Bastien tell you?" the physician prodded.

"Not much. We'd spent time together, he'd stayed behind with me through the winter."

"What did your father tell you?"

"Nothing, really. I left soon after my accident, and he mostly let Bastien talk to me. But he seemed strange, like he hadn't seen me in a long time."

"Do you think that's important?"

"I don't know."

"Before you go, Cece, I would like to know if you know anything about the castle you mentioned. The one by your village. Did you ever go there?"

Her mind's eye saw it before her, tall, imposing, and yet broken down. "No. I dreamed of it, when I was younger. I feel like I can see it, but that's silly."

The physician grunted agreement. "Very well, Cece. I shall talk to you again after I look into what you've already told me."

"Before I go, if I may," Cece asked.

"Ask away," the physician replied.

"Since my accident, I have visions, for want of a better word."

"You mean like your dreams?"

"But they happen when I'm awake. I'll hear my voice say something I never remember saying, or I'll see my own hands, which I know is impossible."

"This is not something I have ever heard of," the physician said. "I shall look into it for you." Cece smiled and thanked him.

"Send the prince in on your way out," Doctor Moraney called after her.

* * *

Bastien walked reluctantly into Doctor Moraney's office.

"You," the physician said, "are hiding something from her."

"What do you mean?" Bastien asked, baffled and a little panicked.

"You are the only one who's told her what happened during the time she forgot. Her father acts as though he hasn't seen her for years. He has nothing to tell her, probably because you paid or threatened him not to. What is it?"

"I cannot tell you. I do not trust that you won't tell Cece."

"Tell me, at least, why you are keeping it from her."

Bastien sighed. "I'm afraid that if she finds out the truth, she'll leave me. I worry that she might have changed, that she doesn't care for me, that she'll leave if she finds out I lied."

"I would. She needs to know the truth. If you don't tell her, she'll stay with you under false pretenses. If you do tell her, she'll be angry and leave, or she'll be angry and stay. Would you have her live a lie when she could be happier elsewhere?"

"I wouldn't be happier with her elsewhere! Why would I tell her something that would make her leave me?"

"Have it your way, Your Highness. But this will all come out sometime, and the longer you wait, the greater chance she'll leave you."

"Do not tell her I've been lying to her, or you will not work in this kingdom again," Bastien threatened.

"I will not tell her. I leave it up to you. It is your struggle, not mine. But I will work against you by helping her discover anything she can about those months she's forgotten. Keep that in mind. You may not want her to find out for herself."

Rather than dignify this comment with a response, Bastien slammed the door on his way out.

* * *

I feel like this chapter was written in a slightly different style...it didn't feel the same as the other chapters. Comments?

Anyway, this is the long-anticipated (or not) meeting between Cece and the physician, who seems more like a psychiatrist than anything else. Like him? Hate him? Rooting for him? Let me know, please.

Anyway. Happy end of July and happy school-for-Mazzie-starts-in-two-and-a-half weeks!

!--Mazzie--!


	25. A Proposal

**Chapter 25: A Proposal**

Doctor Moraney continued seeing Cece for the next several weeks, but he had discovered very little, except that she was quite confused and tended to become suspicious- of him, no less!- when he probed too much into her visions and dreams. He believed this castle was the key, but he could get little out of her.

His frustration only grew when he tried to ask the prince, as Bastien did not want to talk about the issue any further than they already had. And so, finally, Doctor Moraney went to the one other person he knew had been on the trip: Isaac.

Isaac, although at first nervous about discussing his master's business, soon opened up to his old friend.

"I've heard rumors about it, to be sure. One thing I do know- that mysterious nobleman in that castle is not so mysterious to anyone who's been around long enough. King Rudolf sent his brother there when he became so embarrassed at his behavior that he couldn't have him in court. Yes, Lady Imogene's uncle, it was," he said. Isaac was actually far more knowledgeable than Doctor Moraney had initially assumed, a fact for which the doctor was very glad.

"What do you know about this supposed curse? Do you know how the girl's tied in?" Doctor Moraney asked.

"I know only what I've heard from rumor and from the men in that village. The men in the village say the prince was turned into a monster. Apparently some of them saw him, years back. I don't know anything about the girl, but I'll wager she's told you some."

"She has, of course. Isaac, I need to find out more. The prince is hiding something from Miss Tinker, and I aim to help her discover what it is. Bastien won't tell me anything, of course. I need to talk to Cece's father. Could you take me to him?"

Isaac shifted his weight uncomfortably. "I really should stay here with the prince. He might need me."

Doctor Moraney saw through this immediately. "You know, don't you? Why won't you tell me?"

"I made a promise. I said I would tell no one, and that includes you."

"Isaac, what if the girl makes a terrible mistake because of this?"

"Marrying the prince would be a mistake? She'd be queen!"

"What if something happened? What if she changed her mind about Bastien in the time she forgot? There's a reason the prince is hiding from her, and I think that's it."

"I won't tell you, Moraney!"

"Then take me to someone who will! You won't be implicated, I promise. I'll say it was me, moving all on my own."

"It doesn't matter what you say. I need Bastien to trust me. I'm getting older, and I won't be able to hold this job for long. I'll send Neil. He knows the way, and he's trustworthy."

"I won't tell a soul you helped me. Thank you, old friend," the physician said, clasping Isaac's hand.

"I pray I won't live to regret this," Isaac said woefully, but he squeezed Moraney's hand and let him go.

* * *

Bastien glanced up when his door opened, but when he realized it was just Isaac, he returned to the letter he was writing.

"What is it, Isaac?" he asked.

"I feel obliged to tell you that Doctor Moraney requested my aid in contacting Cece's father. He wishes to speak to him," Isaac replied, businesslike.

"You didn't help him, did you?"

"No. But it won't be long before he finds someone who will. I'd advise you to make any move quickly."

"I'll have him arrested!" Bastien cried, rising to his feet.

"Don't be rash, Your Highness," Isaac soothed. "Arresting Moraney would look suspicious, especially to Cece. I meant something a little more pacifistic. Romantic, you might say."

"What do you mean? Propose to Cece now?"

"It would seem that now is the time. Of course, you'd need your father's blessing first."

"Yes. Yes, of course! I'll ask him now!" Bastien pulled a box from inside his tunic. He opened it and gazed at the ring within. "I've waited too long," he murmured, then tucked it away, thanked Isaac, and ducked out.

He thought he heard, as he left, Isaac mutter something like, "What have I done?"

* * *

"No." Rudolf's tone was flat, his answer forceful.

"Father, please-" Bastien pleaded. "I need this now. I've waited almost a year to propose to Cece. I won't wait any longer."

"I told you when she arrived that I wouldn't give my blessing until she had her memory back. She has not regained her memory, so I see no reason to give my blessing now."

"Father, I beg of you! If I don't ask now, I might lose her."

Something in his grandson's tone made Rudolf turn. He looked Bastien in the eye and saw something he had never expected to see- desperation.

"Are you so confident she'll say yes?" he asked finally.

"I know she will."

"Then go. I give my blessing."

"Thank you, Father!" Bastien cried as he dashed out of the room. Rudolf lowered himself into his chair and wondered if he'd done the right thing.

* * *

Cece sat at tea with the three princesses. With all the excitement lately, without her father to remind her, and with the fact that so much of the past year was lost to her, Cece had only just remembered that today was her birthday.

"Your birthday?" Maria had said excitedly. "Oh, we shall have a grand party!"

Francesca and Isabel agreed eagerly and ordered a large tea. The girls sat cheerily, eating and drinking, laughing, singing, wishing Cece a happy birthday, and of course chatting incessantly.

Suddenly the door banged open. The room fell silent, and all Cece could hear was heavy footsteps and labored breathing. The footsteps stopped in front of her, and she recognized Bastien.

"Bastien," she said with a laugh. "What are you doing?"

"Happy birthday, Cece," he said in a near whisper. She felt air move as he lowered himself to her eye level. She heard a collective gasp and a smacking noise as all three girls clapped their hands to their mouths. One of them- Maria, probably- began to squeal shrilly, but she stopped herself quickly.

"Cece," Bastien said, and his voice broke on the last syllable. Cece resisted the urge to laugh. He cleared his throat. "Cece," he began again, and this time his voice was strong and confident, "will you marry me?"

The room fell absolutely still as everyone held their breath. Cece couldn't think. Marry Bastien?

"Y-yes," she stuttered out finally. "Yes, I will marry you."

Suddenly she was swinging through the air in Bastien's arms and all she could hear was the princesses screaming and herself laughing and then she was on the ground again, engulfed in princesses and she was smiling and couldn't stop.

* * *

Doctor Moraney fastened his second saddlebag onto his horse. Now all that was left was to wait for Neil, who was supposed to meet him five minutes ago.

"Doctor Moraney! Doctor Moraney!"

The physician whirled to see Neil running toward him. "I'm sorry I'm late, Doctor Moraney," the man gasped. He appeared to have run all the way from wherever he had been. "Have you heard the news?"

"What news?" the physician demanded.

"The prince is engaged! He announced the betrothal today! He's to marry his Miss Tinker."

"So Isaac told him."

Neil had the decency to look apologetic. "He had to, sir. It was his duty. He did prevent the prince from arresting you, though."

"Thank God for small mercies," Doctor Moraney muttered sarcastically. "So he'll let us go. But he's put a deadline on us now. Saddle up, man! We've got to hurry."

The two men mounted their horses and galloped away into the night.

* * *

I would like to apologize for the short scenes in this chapter. But there's some important plot, which is always good. And I feel like it's my style again...either that or my style's changed!

Any thoughts or comments would be greatly appreciated. Leave me a review!

!--Mazzie--!


	26. Questions and Answers

**Chapter 26: Questions and Answers**

It took Neil and Doctor Moraney two weeks to reach Cece's village. Once there, they reserved a room at the local hotel, the Glass Lady, and went to visit the tinker.

Doctor Moraney left Neil in the common room of the inn, where he talked happily with the owner, a woman named Miranda. The physician continued up the road and out of the village to where the small cottage sat on a hill. He knocked politely when he reached the door, but upon receiving no answer wandered over to the small tinker's shed around the corner.

"Excuse me, sir," he said rather loudly, and the old man working within jumped and whirled around.

"Who're you? What do you want?" he asked suspiciously.

"I apologize for startling you, sir. My name is Doctor Moraney. I'm trying to help a Miss Cecilia Tinker regain her memory, but as she remembers little I find I need some help. I was told you were her father and so I come to you for assistance," the physician said calmly.

"Aye, I'm her father," the old man replied. "How is Cece?"

"Well, I do have some good news. It appears that right before I left the capital she and the prince became engaged."

"Engaged? My Cece? That's wonderful!" The old man ushered Doctor Moraney into the house and sat him down in a chair. He bustled about making tea, then sat and drank with the physician.

"So the prince proposed," he said finally.

"Yes," Doctor Moraney replied.

"And my Cece agreed to it," the old man clarified.

"Yes. I'm worried, however. I can't help but feel that the prince is keeping secrets from Miss Tinker."

"I know. I told him I wouldn't interfere, although it near breaks my heart not to. How's my girl going to remember what happened in there?"

"You knew the prince was lying and you still permitted it?" the physician asked incredulously. To know something and not act on it was nearly a crime in his eyes. Then he registered exactly what the tinker had said. "In there? What does that mean?"

The old man sighed and began talking.

"Cece's not actually my daughter, you know. I cared for her mother before she was born, and when the poor woman passed I raised Cece. I promised her I would."

"I know this part, sir. Cece did remember it and she told it to me," the physician interrupted.

"Don't go interrupting and old man. We get distracted easily, and you wouldn't want me losing my train of thought, now would you?" The old man chuckled and continued. "It was the strangest day. Rumor'd been in the town that the prince what lived in the castle and his niece were expecting a child. I didn't pay much mind. I was old then, although now I consider myself young. Ah, to be sixty again!"

Doctor Moraney cleared his throat a little impatiently.

"Anyway, I suppose that was the day they had the little child. There was a great ruckus up at the castle, and then all this roaring like a wild beast. Now, I live closest to the forest here, so that noise put the fear of God in me, I'll tell you. Anyways, I'm walking down the street shortly after, back to my house from the inn. I was having a drink with Freddy and Miranda- they're good friends, and if you ask me Miranda's a damned fool for rejecting his advances. They make a nice couple, those two.

"So I'm walking home and all of a sudden a crazy-eyed woman runs right past. I grab her hand and I say, 'What's the problem?' and she tells me God's gone crazy on the old prince and the princess and something and she shows me her hand what's all made of glass. Now that was the darnedest thing I'd ever seen in my life. So I brought her back here, and the glass kept spreading up her arm. Then the town midwife comes to examine her- we don't have real doctors here, so we go with what we've got, and that'd midwives- and says, 'Your guest is pregnant.' Well, I tell you, I didn't know how to handle that! So I just talked to her nice until the baby was born, and the entire time the glass spread up her arm, and she was frightened sick.

"She asked me to call my Cece Eirian, and I told her I would, but when that child was born I saw her eyes- you know what I'm talking about, doctor- and I completely forgot. So I named her Cecilia. Her mother turned all to glass, and I took her to my workshop to keep. I kept her clean, and I raised little Cecilia until she's full grown without incident, except she's blind so I always worried about her, you know."

At this point the tinker stopped to refill his cup of tea. Doctor Moraney was incredibly tempted to simply start demanding facts, but he didn't want the old man to reprimand him again, and the narrative was a pleasing one, anyway.

When the tinker had quenched his thirst, he continued. "I told the glass lady- that's what the inn is named for, the glass lady, Cece's mother- I'd go find out what happened to her husband. He worked in the palace and he was inside the grounds on that day. So I took some men up to the castle and we went in. We met the beast what had once been the prince, and even though we feared he didn't kill us, he just told us he needed a maiden to save him. That seemed awfully odd to me, but I suppose curses are curses and that's that.

"When Cece turned twenty I told her the truth, like I promised her mother. But before her birthday she met the prince, Bastien, and she was head over heels for him. She didn't know it, but I did. And I knew he felt the same, but I didn't say anything because young folk should figure that all out themselves.

"So on her birthday I tell her. She got awfully upset and ran out of the house. She came back hours later- God knows where she went- and I told her the last bit, about going to the castle. So she says, 'Then I'll go. I'll go break the curse.' And she's twenty and a full adult so I had no say in the matter. So the next day she takes off and I don't see her again until a few months ago when she got home with that injury."

The tinker appeared to be finished, so Doctor Moraney asked, "So she just went to the castle? You can't tell me anything else?"

"I'm not quite done, doctor. So impatient, you are. Now, the whole time Cece's gone Bastien stays. At first he stays at the inn, but after a couple months he sends his guard home and comes to stay with me. We're both just waiting for her to come back. I taught him some tinkering. Then, the night before Cece comes back, Bastien starts talking crazy. 'That beast's killed Cece!' he says. 'I'll kill him!' I told him there's no need for that, but he insisted. So the next morning he leaves to kill the monster and he comes back unsuccessful but with Cece. And then she was injured and she didn't remember anything. She and Bastien went back to the palace so people like you could treat her. But apparently she'd be better off here where honest people will tell her what really happened. And now I'm done, doctor, so you can ask your questions."

"You say this castle beast is harmless. Can you take me to the castle, so I may speak with him?"

"Not tonight I couldn't. It's late, and there are wolves in the wood. Don't want to be in there after dark," the tinker said. "But be here in the morning around nine and I'll take you."

"Thank you very much, sir," Doctor Moraney said gratefully. "I will be here tomorrow morning." He shook the old man's hand, then turned to go. As he laid his hand on the doorknob, he turned to the tinker to ask a question that had been pressing on him since the beginning of their conversation.

"Why didn't you tell her?"

The tinker sighed. "You think I'm a bad parent for not telling my child the truth. You may be right. But there's a time in a child's life when you've got to let him make his own mistakes and suffer the consequences. I want my daughter to know the truth. That's why I told you. But I want Bastien to learn that he can't lie to get what he wants, and I want Cece to remember on her own. It sounds strange, but I feel like it's right. If I take too much of a hand in her life, she'll come to resent me. They're adults. They can make their own decisions."

The physician shook his head. "Thank you again, sir. I'll see you tomorrow."

* * *

Another morning dawned. October. And still no sign of Eirian.

"Master, you must eat," the armchair said. Nearly two days had passed since the Beast had hunted, yet despite his growling stomach he made no move. "Master," the armchair repeated pleadingly.

"Why?" the Beast asked. "She's not coming back. She was my last hope."

"She may still come back. Come, Master, I hate to see you like this."

"She's not coming back."

"What?"

"I saw it. In the mirror. She's at some other castle, with some other prince. They're getting married."

"Oh, Master," the armchair cried. "I'm so sorry."

"Don't be," the Beast said softly. "She's happy. She found someone she loved. Now I'll have to do the same."

"That's the spirit!" the armchair encouraged. "How about a bite to eat?"

The Beast sighed, but obediently rose and went outside to find whatever rabbits were on the grounds.

* * *

"This is the entrance we came in through," the tinker said as he pulled open a rusted gate. Its hinges squealed unpleasantly.

Doctor Moraney nodded. "I appreciate this very much, Mr. Tinker," he said.

"No need," the tinker replied. "I'm only helping my daughter. However, I won't come any farther. I'm too old to be traipsing around grounds like this."

A sound split the still air. Doctor Moraney jumped. "What was that?" he asked, panicked. "I thought you said the creature was harmless."

The tinker smiled. "A rabbit only," he placated. "The beast must eat sometime. Don't worry about him."

The physician smiled, albeit a little weakly. The noise had been disconcerting, even if it was only a rabbit. He thanked the tinker again and made his way toward the looming castle in the distance.

The door came open easily, as if it had been recently oiled and polished. The foyer, although dusty, was nowhere near as dirty as it should have been after over twenty years.

"Hello?" the physician called. His voice echoed unnervingly. "Hello? I wish to speak to the master of this castle. It is quite important, I think."

He heard a booming crash upstairs and struggled to maintain his composure. The clunking of heavy feet and the click of nails was not reassuring. At last, the monster appeared at the top of the stairs. Despite the tinker's warnings, Doctor Moraney was not prepared for this. The creature was hideous, more hideous than anything he, a scholar, had ever come across, even in legend.

Then the creature spoke. Its voice was deep and growly, as the physician would have imagined a beast's voice to be. "Why are you here?" it asked.

Doctor Moraney cleared his throat. "My name is Doctor Moraney," he began in a shaking voice. "I am a physician at the royal court. I have come on behalf of a Miss Cecilia Tinker, one of my patients."

"I do not know any Cecilia Tinkers," the beast replied.

Anger flashed through the physician's head. Why had he trusted that tinker? This beast would surely have recognized her name if she had really been here for so long.

"Her father informed me that she spent a good deal of time here, until this past June when she left for unknown reasons," he said, trying to jog the monster's memory- if indeed it was a true memory.

The animal moved quickly down the stairs until it was only feet away. When it spoke, it had new emotion in its voice.

"Eirian? You have word of her?" it asked.

"Er," the physician hesitated. He knew no Eirian, but if that was how the monster had known her, so be it. "Yes. She is at the royal palace now, in fact."

Before he could continue, the animal interrupted. "Please, come up to the library. We can speak in comfort there. I would offer you tea, but I've been told enough that I have no skill in making it."

The glimmer in its eyes might have been happiness. He really couldn't tell. Although the eyes were astoundingly human…

The library proved to be a high-ceilinged, well-lit room. Shelves covered the walls where tall, wide windows didn't, and a thick plush rug covered the floor. This room was immaculately clean.

Doctor Moraney walked to a chair by the fireplace and sat himself down. The beast sat on the floor next to him, looking at him with an expression that resembled nothing so much as that of a loyal dog waiting for a handout.

"Please," it said, "tell me about Eirian."

The physician began with what facts he knew. "She was brought to me as an amnesia patient. I tried treating her, but found that her true memories were blocked by the memories the prince had fed her."

"True memories? What do you mean?" the beast interrupted.

Doctor Moraney sighed. He disliked having to tell his story out of order. But the animal was so eager…

"When I spoke with her father I learned that she had spent a good deal of time here, at the castle. The first day she remembers after her twentieth birthday is the day she returned from here, according to the tinker. It appears she suffered a head injury in the woods, which caused her memory to be lost."

"So she forgot she was here? Why didn't you bring her?"

"The prince- Bastien, if I may- guards her fiercely. He told her she had spent all that time at home, with him, and she believed him. Shortly before I left, she agreed to marry him."

The beast growled. "That's why she didn't come back," it murmured, so softly the physician wasn't sure he'd heard correctly.

"I can't get the girl here," he continued, "so I wish to bring you to her."

"You can't," the beast said quickly.

"Whyever not?"

"She's happy. I can't really explain it, but I've seen her. I've never seen her so happy. I wouldn't want to destroy that."

"She could be making a horrible mistake. I don't know what changed about her here, but Bastien suspects it, and that's why he's keeping it from her. I don't want to see her ruin her life."

"The prince suspects what?"

The physician hesitated. Among all the conjectures he'd made from his interviews, this was the least supported. Still, he decided it was his best shot to galvanize the beast to motion.

"He suspects she's fallen in love with you."

* * *

We have not seen this much tinker action for a long time. I'm kind of excited. Also Doctor Moraney gets his own chapters. Shout-out to his fan club!

This chapter's twice as long as the last chapter. Haha.

Questions? Comments? Concerns? Leave a review, and I'll let you know.

!--Mazzie--!


	27. Preparations

**Chapter 27: Preparations**

Cece struggled not to cry out as another pin jabbed her waist. As exciting as it was to be getting married, these fittings were a nightmare. She constantly winced, flinched, or cried out as pins drove into her skin, and then was thoroughly scolded by the seamstress for said wincing, flinching, and crying out, as apparently it upset the measurements. The watching princesses would giggle, and Cece could feel her face warm.

Maria, of course, was jabbering away, describing the dress. "It's white- of course it's white, it's a wedding dress! All wedding dresses are white!" she berated herself. Cece smiled and stored the fact. She had never seen a wedding dress before.

"And it has a big full skirt with lots of lace and frills, and a long train that's covered in beads that look like pearls. They're not actually pearls though, because it's rather silly to put pearls on a train! They'd just fall off! But the ones on the bodice are real, of course!"

At this point the seamstress again poked Cece with a pin, and she flinched away while saying, "Enough, please, Maria!"

The room fell silent, and Cece immediately felt guilty. "Maria, I'm sorry," she said, turning in the direction of Maria's voice. "I'm just frustrated with these fittings."

"Well, you wouldn't have to have so many if the young prince didn't insist on such a quick wedding!" the seamstress said huffily.

She made a valid point. Bastien had insisted they have the wedding at Yule, saying he had waited so long for her while she'd lost her memories that he couldn't wait any longer. Cece had agreed, although that gave them a scant three months to prepare. The castle was in a flurry of activity, cleaning, writing invitations, planning meals, planning decorations…

"Isn't it romantic?" Isabel asked. She, of course, thought the rush was a sign of Bastien's overpowering love for Cece.

Cece, on the other hand, was worried. Bastien had insisted that a notice had been sent to the tinker, but she had heard nothing, and after almost a month, he hadn't arrived. More disturbing still, the physician had disappeared the day of her engagement, and Cece could not discover where he was. Although Bastien insisted he knew nothing of the matter, her suspicions had been raised. Perhaps the physician knew something Bastien wasn't telling her. She had pestered him with questions about the time she had forgotten, but although his answers were vague, they were constant. Perhaps her suspicions were nothing more than the normal doubts before a wedding. So far, she had managed to suppress them as such.

After what seemed like an eternity, the fitting ended. Maria, subdued but still happy, informed Cece that the dress was almost done and that she looked lovely in it.

"Like a fairy princess," she had said. Cece, of course, wasn't sure what that meant and pointed out that she'd never seen a fairy princess.

"Neither has she," Francesca said with a sniff.

"I've seen pictures!" Maria protested.

"That's not the same. Besides, everyone knows there aren't any fairies anymore."

"I'm sure she didn't mean it literally," Isabel interjected before the argument could become more heated.

Cece laughed. The younger girls and their spats gave her the amusement of someone who has never had siblings and experienced the frustration therein. She sensed her laughter annoyed them a bit, especially since, as an older woman, they yearned for her approval.

"Miss Tinker?"

Cece turned her head toward the voice, and Maria helpfully guided her toward its source.

"Miss Tinker, the queen would like to discuss certain details with you," the messenger said, and Cece, trailed by the older princesses and guided by Maria, followed him to the queen's drawing room.

"Miss Tinker," Queen Rochelle said sweetly. Still, Cece could sense the venom in her tone.

"Your Majesty," Cece replied, curtsying low. The queen's sound of approval enforced what the princesses had told her- her curtsy had improved.

"If I may speak to her alone, girls," Rochelle asked. It was more of an order than a request. Cece heard the sound of swishing skirts as the girls curtsied and left.

"Miss Tinker," Rochelle began again.

"Please, call me Cece, Your Majesty."

A snort. "Very well, Cece. I understand you have been quite busy with the fittings for your wedding and reception gowns, but really we must discuss other details. What nobles do you plan to invite?"

"I really don't know, Your Majesty. I suppose I leave that to your discretion."

"Hm. Usually the bride chooses her guests, but I suppose this is a most unusual case. I suppose I can manage invitations toward the proper nobles. Besides your…father, do you have any other guests you wish to invite?"

_Freddy and Miranda_, she thought, but quickly realized that the two of them would be extremely out of place in court. "No one, Your Majesty."

Something niggled at the back of her mind- had she forgotten someone? She'd had few friends in the village, none her age. Who could she be thinking of?

The queen harrumphed again. "Curious. One would suppose that the girl to snare the prince's heart would be popular in her own town. I suppose one shouldn't assume."

Cece repressed a sigh. The queen's barbs were becoming exasperating.

"Never, Your Majesty," she said instead. She could feel the queen shooting her a look. She wondered what the woman looked like.

"Have you thought about a color scheme for the wedding? Obviously, your gowns will be white anyway, but the decorators and the guests need to know so they can begin their planning. Really, you've put this off far too long, Cece."

While from Bastien, her father, or the princesses her name sounded lovable, from the queen it became an object of disgust. She schooled her face into a smile so she wouldn't offend Rochelle.

"Unfortunately, Your Majesty, I have very little idea of what colors would go together. I shall have to enlist your aid again."

She sensed the queen's irritation, but really, how was Cece to match colors? She didn't even really know what colors looked like.

"Shall I have to do all of your planning for you?" Rochelle asked, perturbed.

"Of course not. I'm sure I can help with the food. I'm just not knowledgeable enough about court and colors to help there."

Rochelle sniffed. "Very well. You may go. But expect to meet with me again in the near future."

"But of course, Your Majesty," Cece said with a deep curtsy. Then she left the room as quickly as she could without looking like she was fleeing.

* * *

"My lord," Isaac called.

Bastien rose and clasped Isaac's hand firmly. "Any news of Moraney?" he asked.

Isaac shook his head. "No one's seen a sign of him. It's like he vanished into thin air." What Isaac didn't mention was that no one was looking. He knew full well where the doctor was, and he approved thoroughly enough to risk his position.

The prince growled and sat back down at his desk, head in hands. "What if he somehow helps her get her memory back? After all this time?"

Isaac sighed. _This_ conversation again. "I can't say I'd disapprove," he said honestly, as he always did. "Who knows? Once she knows her true mind, she may well still love you. But it's far better for her to know her true mind."

"She'll leave me if she does," the prince groaned. "You have to find that doctor. Make sure he doesn't see Cece again."

"Of course, my lord." This was a rather unusual twist on the conversation. Usually Bastien bewailed his predicament a bit longer and then ordered the doctor either captured or killed.

"Don't you have a wedding to prepare for?" Isaac asked after a moment.

"I do."

"Why aren't you happy? You're marrying the girl you love in a month and a half, which is farther than I've ever gotten with romance, let me tell you."

"Once we are married, I can relax," the prince said, his voice so low Isaac had to strain to hear it.

"Spend some time with her," Isaac said. "She always calms you down."

The prince gave Isaac a weary smile. "Thank you, old friend," he said. "You always know how to make me happier."

Isaac smiled back, but inside he felt terribly guilty. Here was the prince, reassured by his words, when Isaac was working with that doctor against him. He remembered the prince as a boy, always looking to Isaac for lessons in weaponry or other arts of war. How could he do this? How could he work against this boy he had watched grow up, this boy who so eagerly tried to please him?

"I have duties to attend to, my lord," Isaac said, his voice catching.

"Very well, Isaac. I shall see you again soon, I hope?"

He forced a smile. "Of course, my lord. With only good news, of course."

"Thank you, Isaac. For everything."

Not trusting his voice, the captain of the guard slipped back to his post.

* * *

I know, back to short chapters. Boo! But hopefully the next few will be longer.

School starts Monday! Boo!

The queen is back...thoughts?

Questions? Comments? Concerns? Leave a review, and I'll let you know.

!--Mazzie--!


	28. Decisions

**Chapter 28: Decisions **

Bastien woke sweating.

It wasn't the first time this had happened, nor would it be the last. In fact, since he had returned with Cece he had often so woken, drenched in sweat and breathing hard, adrenaline racing through his body. He could never remember anything about his dreams, except that they were filled with a nameless terror.

He calmed his breathing slowly. No need to be irrational. It was naught but a dream. Or so he told himself. In reality he knew his dreams were his guilt about lying to Cece coming to a head. In daylight he could defend his position, to himself or to others, well enough to even convince himself he was doing the right thing, but at night his conscience tormented him.

The wedding was fast approaching. With the onset of November, little over a month remained before he would at last have Cece to himself. Then, perhaps, the nightmares would stop. Then, his conscience could do nothing to him.

But he feared. What if he still woke so every night? Cece would become suspicious, more so than she already was. And he knew she was. That bedamned doctor had planted ideas in her head, ideas that Bastien was lying. Since then she questioned him more closely about their supposed time together, giving him odd looks when he was a little vague, which, of course, he often was. She fretted over the tinker's absence, wondering if he'd gotten his invitation to the wedding, wondering if she should have gone herself to fetch him. What Bastien didn't have the heart to tell her was that he had kept the tinker's invitation. He hadn't sent it. He didn't want that man to ruin everything he had striven so hard to create.

"A marriage based on lies will never work," Isaac had told him. Every time he awoke like this, Bastien heard the guard captain's words and shuddered. He knew in his heart that Isaac was right. Cece would discover him, and she would lose her trust and stop loving him. He had a limited amount of time to tell her the truth, and it grew shorter by the day.

"I have to tell her the truth," Bastien mumbled to himself. And although it broke his heart, the words rang true.

* * *

The man had been gone nearly a week, and still the Beast thought.

He couldn't leave. If he left, he died.

He couldn't stay. If he stayed, she married, and he never saw her again.

His only hope was in leaving. But what if the doctor was wrong? What if he left and went to her, and she still didn't remember? Or worse, she did remember and she didn't love him? He would die then, and die a Beast at that.

"Go," the armchair said.

"What?" The Beast whirled around, astounded. The armchair had been silent for days.

"Go to her. Whatever that man said has you all in a tizzy, and I can tell it's about her. So go. Find her. Tell her you love her. You may be surprised."

The Beast padded over and, in an uncharacteristic motion, laid his head on the armchair's seat.

"You don't understand. She's engaged. I knew that. But this man comes and tells me she's lost her memory, she doesn't remember me. Her betrothed is telling her lies so she won't remember me. He asks me to come to the palace with him, to leave my castle, on a chance that she may love me. On a chance that she'll regain her memory. A chance so slim, I could die for nothing," he said.

"Is a chance at a life with your true love worth nothing? Is a chance at breaking this curse worth nothing? Is a chance of saving her from a life she may not want worth nothing?" the armchair asked softly.

The Beast was silent.

"Master," the armchair said, "I miss being human, just like you do. I know I would jump at the chance to break a curse, and if love was involved, so much the better."

The Beast sighed and resumed thinking, although he never moved from his position. Before long, he drifted off into sleep.

He awoke later. The day had ended, and moonlight streamed through the window, bathing him and the armchair. The Beast rose and went outside. He could feel the nip of winter's chill in the November air. He didn't know when Eirian married. He didn't want to check the mirror.

He paced the battlements, looking for inspiration. He gazed down the overgrown road to the capital and thought about taking it. He considered the armchair's words. He considered the man's. He considered everything Eirian had ever said to him that could indicate the man's words were true.

Standing there, on the battlements, his breath steaming in the air, the Beast made his decision.

* * *

"Cece," Bastien said as he entered the room.

Cece rose from where she'd been momentarily resting. The seamstress had left to fetch her dress for the reception, so Cece had a break from another endless fitting. She went to embrace him.

"Bastien, really, she's not decent!" Francesca protested.

"Really, Francesca, it's all right." Cece still wasn't used to the inordinate amount of clothing she had to wear every day. To her, the thick linen shift over her petticoats was quite enough to be classified as "decent".

"No, no, Francesca's right," Bastien said. "Put your gown on. I need to talk to you."

Cece heard the sadness in his tone. What was going on?

"I have to finish my fitting," she protested weakly. In truth, she couldn't be happier to leave.

"Don't worry about it. I'll talk to the seamstress. She won't be happy, but she'll obey me."

Cece frowned. She still didn't like the way Bastien could talk so easily about using his royal power. "Give me a moment," she said, and fetched her heavy brocade gown of the day from the chair a maid had placed it on. Maria rushed to help her dress.

Bastien guided her out into the halls, which were considerably colder than the fitting room had been. Cece was grateful for her warm dress.

"Cece, I have something I need to tell you," he said.

"What is it?" Cece asked, confused. He sounded so grave that it had to be serious, but she couldn't think what it was. Had the king and queen decided not to let them marry?

"It's about the time you forgot," he said.

Her response surprised her. She was almost panicked when she said, "What about it? Did you remember something?"

He didn't reply. Then he said, "It's not as important as I thought it was. I just wanted to get you away from your fitting."

She smiled and pulled herself closer to him. "I'm glad you did," she said. "Those are a nightmare."

"I know. I've done them before."

Cece turned her face upward for a kiss.

* * *

The common room of the Glass Lady was nearly empty today. Doctor Moraney, Neil, and the tinker were the only customers, although some of the inhabitants of the inn wandered in and out. Neil was flirting with the young barmaid while Doctor Moraney and the tinker discussed matters.

"When are you leaving?" the tinker asked.

"Any day now. I'm waiting for a sign the creature has left. I hardly want to beat him to the castle and have the prince forewarned," the physician replied. Although staying at the inn was draining his funds, he didn't mind the extended stay. The people in this town were genuinely kind, the sort he had grown up with. And he had a good deal invested in seeing this beast off first.

"When did he say he was leaving?"

"He didn't. He was quite silent when I told him, and then asked what I thought the proper course of action was. I, of course, reiterated that I wanted him to go to her. Then he dismissed me. I believe he needed some time to mull things over."

"How do you know he is going?" the tinker asked, confused.

"I have never seen, in any creature, an expression such as that when I mentioned her. His whole demeanor changed. He watched so eagerly for word of her, true word of her. And he refused to go, at first, because he had somehow 'seen' she was happy. But when I told him my suspicions…his whole face lit up. Yes, he loves her. He'll fight for her, too, I'll wager."

A roar resounded through the town, rattling the dishes in the inn. All three men jumped. The barmaid screamed and buried her head in Neil's shoulder. He patted her back comfortingly, but over her shoulder winked at the physician.

"There," Doctor Moraney said, his heart still racing with fear at the sound. "I believe my wager was correct."

* * *

Although he had anticipated instant weakening, the Beast hardly felt the effects of leaving the castle for the first few days he traveled. He was able to move quickly through the countryside in the direction he hoped he remembered led to the capital, for although he tried to keep close to the road, his sense of direction was completely clouded. He kept to the shadows of the forest where possible, and where necessary waited until night to pass through. He made good time, which he hoped would work to his advantage once the weakness set in.

It wasn't until the fourth morning that he awoke late and stopped early. He became progressively worse, and his journey dragged on as he ran out of energy faster. He forced himself to keep eating and forced himself to keep moving, even though he knew he was only quickening his demise. He had to get to Eirian- he could not let her marry without knowing her true feelings.

He could not die a beast. He would not die a beast.

* * *

Gr. My timing's off. According to my own words, it's November both with the Beast and with Cece, although clearly 3 weeks have transpired for the Beast (Cece's proposal came on her birthday, it took Doctor Moraney 2 weeks to get out to her town, then 2 days to visit the Beast, then this is one week later. Grr.)(so technically the Beast is a while behind Cece-time.)

Um. I'm not sure about the scene at the end. I pulled it up from the next chapter because it was short and applicable. Still, I think you can tell I wrote it awhile ago. I feel like it's not flowing with the chapter.

And yeah, I couldn't think of a chapter title. And my friends fail as idea-bouncers (ie they're all doing better things, like homework).

An interesting phenomenon: I realized the other day that I've always pictured the armchair like the one in my English teacher's room (the one from last year). I hated that man, and so I feel a bit less loving toward the armchair now, which is quite unfortunate because it's one of my favorite characters. Even more interesting, when I talked to my friends, CocaColaSplinters, HuntressofDarkness91, and magic trick, I realized that they, too, all picture that specific chair. Quel bizarre, no? Anyway, enough with my rambles.

Reviews are appreciated, as always!

!--Mazzie--!

EDIT: added a chapter title. Thanks to Anjirika on Fictionpress!


	29. Reunion

**Chapter 29: Reunion**

The ballroom was crowded with people, at least from the volume of sound. Cece pulled herself closer to Bastien self-consciously. She had never been in so crowded a place.

"Don't worry," Bastien whispered in her ear. "You'll be fine."

Cece nodded weakly. She didn't feel much like herself tonight, especially after nearly three hours of preparation. A virtual army of maids had entered her room shortly after dinner and begun scrubbing, combing, dressing, and otherwise grooming her until she felt encased in a prettier, softer version of armor. Besides perhaps her wedding gown, this was the most uncomfortable of her dresses, and when combined with the stiffness of her hair and her complete inability to move her face, the ensemble was nearly unbearable.

"I'll make a fool of myself," she hissed back. "I can barely move in this dress, let alone dance. I must look like a complete idiot."

"You look beautiful. And if you do make a fool of yourself, what does it matter? We can't very well call off the wedding now."

He spoke truly. The wedding was barely a week away. The assembled crowd consisted of whatever nobleman could make it on such short notice which, it so happened, appeared to be most of the nobles. The dresses were finished, the dishes were ordered, the gifts had been purchased, and the portions of the palace that were to be used in the celebration had been cleaned and marginally decorated. The marriage of a prince, especially the Crown Prince, was an occasion for enormous celebration.

"I'll have to live around these people for the rest of my life," Cece whispered anxiously. "If I ruin my first impression, I'll ruin any chance I have of ever being accepted by them."

"Will you stop worrying? You're ruining your makeup. And besides, you at least have an excuse if you make a blunder, don't you?"

Cece frowned. She didn't like the easy way he referred to her blindness as an "excuse". It seemed unlike him. That is, unlike the Bastien she had fallen in love with.

_What's he so worried about?_

* * *

The guards at the wall had been watching the huge lumbering bear for nearly an hour now. It appeared to be injured, or sick, or blind, because it stumbled into things and roared amusingly.

"Should we put it out of its misery?" asked one, a lanky blond who had only been with the company a few months.

"Nah," replied his companion. "You'll regret it if you do. It's a rare thing when we see something so entertaining." _Not since the Princess Imogene disappeared_, he thought. Now that had been entertainment.

The bear continued to lumber toward the castle, and it was only when he got within five hundred feet of the castle that the guards realized that the beast was no bear at all, but some sort of monster. The older man immediately sent the younger for Isaac.

Isaac and the younger guard arrived as quickly as possible. A real danger to the castle was a rarity, and therefore a cause for agitation. The captain brought with him a company of archers to shoot the beast down before it could get any closer. They approached the walls with their bows at the ready, but waited for the captain's command. The older guard gestured at the beast, which had lain practically unmoving for the past few moments, seemingly exhausted.

"It's sick or wounded, whatever it is," the guard said disdainfully. "I say we put it out of its misery."

The archer company commander fired the first shot, a warning shot that hit the ground a few feet in front of the beast. He hoped to get the beast to run, so his archers could have more of a challenge in shooting a moving target. They saw little enough action as it was, and at least they could bring back a few fading skills this way.

What happened, however, was totally different from what the commander had expected.

The beast jerked its head up and called, in a human voice, "Don't shoot! Please!"

"Hold fire!" Isaac and the commander hollered in unison. A talking beast- something even rarer, and something the king would like to see.

"Please," the beast said, "I'm looking-" it paused to catch its breath- "for the Lady Eirian."

To the commander's surprise, Isaac grinned. "A talking beast, looking for a lady," he said quietly. "He's come for her."

The commander looked at him questioningly. "Who's come for who?"

Isaac beckoned to a young man, Bartholomew, who had followed him to the wall. "Stay here, lad," he said, "and make sure no one harms that creature. I'll be back in a moment."

The young man nodded, and Isaac headed off to the castle.

* * *

Bastien was across the ballroom getting Cece a glass of water after a lively- and clumsy, on her part- dance. He had left her sitting next to a large pillar, where she was unlikely to be bothered while he was gone. But when he turned around, he noticed a man whispering in her ear. He was furious until he realized the man was Isaac, but then he became apprehensive. What did Isaac have to say to Cece that didn't concern him? He hurried across the room and handed Cece her glass of water as he asked, "What's going on?"

"There's a beast at the gate looking for me," Cece said, amused, as if this were some joke of Bastien's. But Bastien was frozen in horror. Everything could begin unraveling now. He could lose Cece.

"Isaac, may I speak to you?" he asked, his voice sharp. The older man pulled him aside, out of Cece's hearing range.

"Is it the one from the castle?" Bastien asked.

"I believe it is."

"Why didn't you just kill it?"

"It came for her, my lord. I had to give it a chance."

"Well, she can't see it! This could ruin everything! What if it convinces her to leave?"

"And what if she doesn't remember? My lord, I believe this will be harmless," Isaac said calmly.

"You think she should meet this thing?"

"I do, my lord. And if you won't take her to it, I will."

Bastien frowned. "Very well," he said slowly. "But if anything should change-"

"It's my fault. Yes, sir, I know."

They rejoined Cece, who had finished her water and was leaning against the pillar. She looked so lovely in her court gown, more beautiful than Bastien could have ever imagined. If he should lose her now…

"Isaac seems to think this beast is harmless," he forced himself to say cheerily. "Let's go meet it, then."

* * *

The Beast lifted his head when he heard the ripple of movement shoot through the soldiers. He could see, distantly, a woman who could have been Eirian, leaning gently on the arm of a man who looked familiar, even from this distance. He had a way of carrying himself that felt like something the Beast knew, like someone he had once seen often but never really known.

But as soon as the woman came into focus, his mind latched on her and her alone. It was she, it was Eirian, and she had come for him!

"The Lady Cecelia is here," the third man announced. His words seemed directed at the Beast, although addressed to all the soldiers.

The woman looked highly confused and stared unblinkingly into the distance. _Why won't you look at me?_ the Beast thought. _Am I that much of a shame to you? _Then he remembered- outside of the castle, Eirian was blind. She couldn't see him, and if she couldn't see him, how would she ever recognize him?

* * *

Cece had very little idea what was going on. She was aware of two things- Bastien's arm under her fingers and that it was very cold outside. A beast wanted to see her? What had she ever had to do with beasts?

Then she heard a rasping voice murmur, "Eirian," and suddenly everything came back. The Beast. The castle. And suddenly forefront, that Bastien had lied to her. But then the enormity of the situation washed over her. The Beast was here. Outside of the castle. Where he would die, was probably dying now.

"Oh, no," she whispered, and let her feet take her to the Beast's side. "Why did you come?" she murmured into his fur. He smelled like the woods outside the city, and a little bit like home.

"I had to," the Beast whispered back.

Cece felt a hand on her shoulder- Bastien's, most likely. "Please leave us," she said. "Take your men." She heard the faint rattle of armor as the men paced away.

"A man came to the castle. He told me that you lost your memory."

"What man?"

"A doctor. He said the man you were going to marry lied so you wouldn't remember me."

A sob rose in Cece's throat. "He did," she said, choked.

"I saw you, in the mirror. You looked happy, and you were getting married. I thought maybe you lied."

"I did lie. My father wasn't sick. Bastien- the prince, the one I was to marry- was coming to kill you. I went to stop him. I meant to come back-"

The Beast hushed her. "'Was to marry'?" he asked. "You're not marrying him anymore?"

She could picture the smile on his face, and for once was glad for her blindness. She couldn't see the way he looked now.

"Eirian?"

"What?"

"I love you," the Beast said, so softly she wasn't sure she'd heard.

"I know you do," she replied, burying her face in his fur. He smelled like woods and a little bit like home.

"Do you- do you love me?"

"You must ask?"

"Please."

"Of course I love you, Beast," she whispered, so softly she wasn't sure she'd actually said anything.

With those words, everything changed.

* * *

Bastien stood a fair distance away, watching anxiously. He couldn't see much in the gloom, but he could tell that Cece was upset, more upset than he'd ever seen her. She leaned in to the creature, and all of a sudden a bright light engulfed both of them. He jumped forward, but the light was gone in a flash and Bastien found himself stumbling along blindly. When his vision finally cleared, he saw Cece with her arms around a prone man. The monster was gone.

"Cece!" he cried. "What happened?"

She didn't look up from the man's face. "Take him inside," she said brusquely. "Call a physician for him. He is under my care."

She watched as a few of the guards lifted the man and began to carry him inside, and then she brushed Bastien aside and followed.

He stood there, dumbfounded, for a few moments, then remembered his guests and forced himself to return to the ball. He explained that Cece had been taken with a headache and retired early.

In fact, it wasn't until much later that he remembered how confidently Cece had walked off- almost as if she could see.

* * *

Sorry this took so long. I was on vacation and just got to this now.

Some of this seems a little awkward, mostly because I wrote it so long ago. Of course I edited it, but it's still different-ish.

Oh yeah. And we have climax. So we're almost done, right? Sadly, I can definitely squeeze at least 2-3 more chapters out of this. Hahaha. I am so not ready for this to end...

Reviews appreciated!

!--Mazzie--!


	30. Confrontations and Explanations

**Chapter Thirty: Confrontations and Explanations**

As soon as he staggered into the library, a figure detached from the group and threw her arms around him.

"You're walking! You're well!" she squawked excitedly.

"Yes, yes, I'm quite well, but I won't be for long if you keep squeezing me like this!" he replied gruffly.

"Oh, I'm quite sorry! I won't do it again."

He reached down and hugged her back. "I don't mind," he whispered into her ear.

Cece pulled away and grabbed his hand. "Let me introduce you," she said. She dragged him over to the other girls, who were smiling happily. Still, Cece could see the falseness behind their smiles, and knew he could see it too. She frowned slightly, but only for an instant.

"This is Maria, Isabella, and Francesca," she said, gesturing at each of the girls. "And this is-" she paused. "I'm afraid I don't actually know your name," she said to the man at her side.

"Tristan," said an unfamiliar voice. Cece and the man turned to see the king enter the library.

"His name is Tristan," the king repeated.

"That's a fine name," Cece said, trying to ease the tension, but Tristan didn't move.

"Rudolf," he said coldly.

Cece had never seen the king so angry. To tell the truth, she had never seen the king at all, but she imagined he did not look so furious all the time.

"Leave us," Tristan said, not only to her, but to the princesses as well.

"I won't!"

"Eirian, please," he entreated.

She sighed exasperatedly, but agreed. The sisters were already on their way out the door.

Hardly had she left when Cece ran into Bastien- almost literally.

"Oh, I'm so sorry," she said. "I wasn't paying attention."

"I'd expect you'd be over that by now," he said, and for the first time she saw the smile she could hear in his voice.

"Bastien."

"Cece. How are you?"

The brief instant of levity had passed, and they returned to the significant awkwardness that had dogged the limited interactions they had had lately. A wrinkle of regret crossed her brow, but she pushed it away.

"I'm quite well, thank you. How are you?" she replied blandly.

"I'm not doing so well, actually," he replied. "I was looking for you. We need to talk."

"About what? I thought I'd made my position quite clear."

"You never said a word to me!"

"Well it appears you got the message. We're not married yet, are we?"

"I only postponed the wedding. And that's what I need to talk to you about. When shall we reschedule it?"

Cece cast him a glance. "Reschedule? Bastien, our engagement was based on the lies you told me. You had plenty of opportunities to tell me what really happened, but you never did-"

"I didn't want to lose you!" Bastien interrupted.

"Well, it appears you have lost me. I will not be marrying you any time in the near future. Good day, my lord." She curtseyed and turned to leave.

"They're blue, you know," Bastien called after her.

She looked back. "What?"

"Your eyes. They're blue."

Cece sighed. "Good day, my lord," she repeated, and left.

* * *

The king and the man who had once been a beast stood facing each other in the library.

The click of the door latch behind Eirian and the princesses was their cue to begin.

"You're looking well," Tristan began sarcastically.

"Why have you returned?" Rudolf asked, ignoring his brother. "You knew you would not be welcome here."

"I knew that the one person I cared to be welcomed by would welcome me. And that is what mattered."

"The one person you cared about? I could not count on all my fingers and all my toes the number of girls you've said that about!"

"Eirian's special."

"Is she special like Imogene was special? She was my daughter, Tristan! Your niece! I cannot fathom what went through your mind."

"I thought perhaps it was true love. She was different from the other girls. And I was hardly the only willing one."

"Don't you say that about my daughter!"

"I'll tell the truth about your daughter. You'll be the only one who doesn't believe it."

"I'll have you thrown out of my palace! I'll have you banished!"

"No, you won't. I'm under the care of your guest, Miss Cecilia Tinker, and it would be bad form to eject someone else's guest."

Rudolf fumed silently. Tristan smiled grimly in return.

"As I thought," he said.

"I'll have you both thrown out!"

"What of your young heir? He would stand in your way."

"I'll order Miss Tinker to marry him."

"She won't. She loves me. Your prince has told her only lies."

"I see where he inherits it."

Tristan froze for a second, then smiled. "Ah, so this is where my son ended up. I'm sure you've done a capital job raising him."

"He's been far better raised than you ever were!"

"Now, then, let's not speak ill of the dead, shall we? Mother and Father would be turning in their graves to hear us bicker so."

"You say this girl really loves you? Tell me, does she know the truth? Does she know what you did?"

Tristan's expression flickered, and Rudolf knew he'd found a sore spot.

"I was about to tell her, actually, before you so rudely interrupted," the younger man replied.

"So she loves you because of a lie you told her. It sounds as though you and your son are exactly the same. And she has already rejected your son."

Tristan bit his lip.

"How do you know she won't reject you as she rejected Bastien? Haven't you both done essentially the same thing? What makes you so much more appealing to her?"

"I let her go," Tristan said quietly.

"What?"

"I let her go. She asked me if she could leave, and I let her. And for months upon months I watched her with another man and simply thought she had left me for him. But I didn't want to take that away from her, because she looked happy. The young prince, on the other hand, pulled her closer and closer so she wouldn't leave him to be happy elsewhere. That's the difference."

"Don't sound so noble. You came for her when you thought you had a chance."

"Wouldn't any man? Wouldn't you?"

Rudolf frowned. "I am not you, Brother," he said at last. He turned away and looked out the window. Snow flurries swirled in the air.

"Forgive me," Tristan pleaded.

"What?" The king turned back around.

"Forgive me. I beg of you, please. I spent twenty years regretting everything and wanting your forgiveness. Please, grant me at least that."

Rudolf stared at his brother, who had prostrated himself on the floor. For a long moment the two were silent.

"I cannot," Rudolf said finally.

Tristan heard a click as the latch of the door closed behind his brother.

* * *

"Tristan?"

He looked up when he heard his name. His thoughts had drifted off as he stared into the fire, and were called back by none other than the subject of those thoughts.

"Eirian! Come in," he said, gesturing to a spot on the sofa next to him. She sat.

"What are you thinking about?" she asked him.

"Many things. Chief among them what I'm going to do."

"Stay here, with me. That's easy," she replied.

"I cannot. There are too many people who dislike me. The king, for instance."

"What happened?"

He remained silent.

"Tristan, please tell me what happened between you and the king. I must know."

"It was a horrible thing that I did."

"Tell me, please." She lay a hand on his shoulder. Her touch was so gentle, so loving. He tore himself away.

"My curse was brought upon me because the king's daughter and I bore a child."

"A child?"

"Yes. Your Bastien, in fact. He is my son."

"I don't understand. What is so grievously wrong about that?"

Tristan sighed. "I do not want to tell you, but I know I must. You must understand, I was very young and very, very foolish, but that does not excuse my actions."

"Please, just tell me."

"Imogene was my niece. Rudolf is my brother."

She furrowed her brows at him in confusion, then widened her eyes in shock.

"You slept with your own niece?" she asked incredulously.

"I have never regretted anything more."

"What were you thinking? Why did you think that was right?"

"I don't know what I was thinking. I don't think I was thinking."

"Why didn't you tell me before?" He saw tears sparkling in Eirian's eyes. It was a beautiful sight.

"I didn't want to disgust you. I suppose I might as well have told you, though."

A single tear dropped from her eyes.

"What on earth…?" Eirian said, rubbing at her eyes.

Tristan laughed. "You're crying," he said. She began to laugh too.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I wasn't expecting that."

He gently wiped another tear from her cheek. "I'm so sorry," he said softly. "I should have told you."

"A good number of people knew, I think. Anyone in my village could have told me. They all chose not to. Why should you have chosen any different?"

"Because it was my crime. Eirian, if this is unforgivable, please tell me now, and I'll go back to the castle-"

"It's been twenty years, and I believe you've repented," she interrupted, smiling. "And I'm glad you told me, and not someone else."

"So you'll forgive me?" he asked hopefully.

"It appears God has forgiven you," she replied, gesturing at his human form. "Why shouldn't I?"

He took her in his arms and kissed her for the first time.

* * *

Bastien glanced up as his grandfather entered.

"I must talk to you," the king said, taking a seat. "It involves recent events."

"I must tell you something as well," Bastien said. "Cece has ended our engagement. We have no more need of wedding preparations."

"While that is quite distressing, son, my news will upset you far more, I think. Please, sit."

Bastien took the armchair next to the king nervously. The older man had called him "son", and that was never a good sign.

"As you may have guessed, the man who arrived recently is your father."

Bastien nodded.

"What you may not know," the king continued, "is that that man is also my brother."

"Your brother? But I thought Imogene was your daughter?"

"She was."

"You mean to tell me that my parents were related that closely?"

"I'm afraid so."

"And that they acted on this anyway?"

"Yes, son."

Bastien snorted in disbelief. His voice, when he spoke again, was anguished.

"Why didn't you kill me when I was brought here? Clearly I was some abomination!"

"Bastien, listen to me. What your parents did does not affect who you are. I did not kill you because you are not to blame for their actions."

The young man had risen and walked to the window, where he struggled to control himself.

"Bastien-" the king began gently.

"Leave me!"

The king sighed and got to his feet. As he reached the door he turned back.

"Bastien, I want you to remember that whatever happens, I love you. I always have, and I always will. You are as good as a son to me, and I can only hope I have been as good as a father to you."

The prince's voice was choked. "Please go."

He sat alone for some time after the king had left.

_Abomination_, he thought. _No wonder Cece doesn't love me._

The night grew dark and late, and still Bastien remained in his room, alone as he always would be.

* * *

I know, I know. I had the most ridiculous writer's block, which you'd think by this time I wouldn't have to worry about, but apparently I do...

I don't like this chapter. I feel like it's way too much dialogue, and it feels forced. Thoughts?

Oh! And the Beast has a name!! Yay!

So yeah, leave me a review! We've only got one chapter left!!

!--Mazzie--!


	31. The End

**Chapter 31: The End**

Cece found Bastien by chance as she wandered the battlements.

She enjoyed walking up here. She had never been interested in it before, but now that she could see the views, she quite enjoyed them. She loved to look in the direction of home and try to imagine what home looked like. She remembered she had done similar things at the castle.

Bastien was leaning silently against the wall, so deep in thought he did not hear Cece's approach.

"What are you thinking about?" Cece asked, falling into their old habit of not greeting each other.

He started and whirled to face her. "Falling," he said, "and death."

"Death? Bastien, what's wrong?"

"I'm an abomination, Cece. My own father- well, my grandfather- the man who's been my father my entire life says so. He said he would have killed me, except that I was blameless. Had I been someone else's bastard child, he would have killed me, Cece!"

"But you are blameless, Bastien. Your birth is no more your fault than my glass eyes were mine."

"But those went away. I'll always be who I am."

"Bastien…" Cece trailed off and settled down beside him, her arm around his shoulder.

He shrugged her off angrily. "Do not play that game with me," he growled.

"Game? What game?" Cece asked, bewildered.

"Stop pretending you care! I know you don't. You have your beast-man to love, so why should you love me? Why should you love-" he stopped abruptly and put his face in his hands. She could hear the choked breath of sobs.

"I'm not pretending, Bastien," she said softly. "I do love you. I always have."

"Then why won't you marry me?"

"Would me marrying you really change the way you feel?"

"It would mean somebody loved me!" His voice cracked on "loved". Cece winced.

"Do you understand why I can't marry you?" she asked.

"Do you?"

His question stopped her. _Did_ she know? Why was she so set against marrying Bastien? He had done nothing the Beast- Tristan- hadn't done, and many other things besides. Why, then, would she choose him over Bastien?

"You don't know," Bastien said. "You just don't want to marry the bastard abomination you thought you loved!"

"Stop calling yourself that! You're not an abomination! You're the same person you were before. You just know more about yourself now."

"Your beast is the same person he was before," Bastien replied. "You just know about it now."

"He's been through horrors you can't even imagine," Cece said spitefully. "He's come out changed. I can only hope the same happens to you one day."

She turned on her heel and walked away.

"People don't change, Cece," Bastien called after her. "I hope you realize that before you make a mistake."

Tears gathered in Cece's eyes. Why did all her encounters with Bastien have to end so badly now?

* * *

"So, you're our uncle?" Francesca asked.

Tristan nodded.

"And you slept with our dead sister?"

He nodded again.

"Repeatedly."

Again.

"Until she conceived and bore you a child?"

Tristan forced himself to nod.

"So why are you trying to be friends with us?"

He cleared his throat. The eyes of the three girls seemed to burn into his skin. Where was Eirian?

"You're my nieces," he said finally. "I'm trying to start over and the best way I can think of is to have good relationships with my family."

"Well, I don't feel safe around you. What if you should choose to fall in love with me?" Francesca asked tartly.

"Francesca, be kind. He doesn't seem like the type," Isabel said. "Besides, he loved her. Look how sad he is!"

"I'm sure she didn't think he was 'the type' either," Francesca retorted.

"I was 'the type'," Tristan replied. "She was too. That relationship was not entirely my idea."

"And you say you've changed?" Isabel asked.

"Of course I have."

"How can we be sure?"

"Have I eyed even a single woman since I arrived?"

Maria and Isabel shook their heads, but Francesca was still wary. "First off, until yesterday, you were ill in bed and saw no one. Second off, you have."

"Who?" asked the others in unison.

"Well, Cece, of course."

"That's not fair, Francesca! He loves her!" Isabel cried. Maria and Tristan protested similarly.

"Well," Francesca said after a moment. "I'm still not fully convinced, but as my sisters seem to have accepted you, I suppose I shall have to deal with you for the time being. But I'll be watching you!"

At that precise moment, the doors flew open and Eirian appeared.

"Praise God!" Tristan cried. "I thought you'd never arrive!" Then he saw her expression and ran to her side. "What's the matter? What's happened?" he asked anxiously.

"It's nothing, really," Eirian replied. "Only, Bastien's saying horrible things, and he won't let me talk sense into him, and I'm afraid he'll hurt himself."

Within an instant all three sisters were on their feet. "Where?" asked Maria. Eirian directed them, and when they hesitated said, "Leave me. He won't listen anyway."

As the door closed behind them, Tristan looked Eirian in the eye.

"There's something else," he said. "Did he say something?"

"He asked me why I chose you over him," she whispered. "I didn't know."

He embraced her tightly. "If I hadn't found out something about Imogene, I would love her still," he said after a moment.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, sometimes we think we love a person, but we find out they lied to us. And then we realize we never really loved them."

"But you lied to me too! And I still love Bastien."

"I still love Imogene. But I never felt for her what I feel for you."

"So I never had true love for Bastien?"

"You loved him. But no, it wasn't true love."

"But this is." It was more statement than question.

"This is." And Tristan leaned down and kissed her.

* * *

It was just like her.

Of course Cece would send his sisters, the king and queen, and Isaac, but not come herself. Perhaps he had been too forceful in rebutting her. She clearly had not understood that she was the one he wanted.

"Bastien, what's wrong?"

He wasn't sure which sister asked him. He refused to look at them.

"Leave me!" he said vehemently.

"Bastien-" A hand on his shoulder. He shrugged it off.

"Leave me!" he repeated.

The smothering female presence stepped back.

"Go find some other way to amuse yourselves," said the king's gruff voice. "I'll handle this."

When all had left, the king placed a hand on his grandson's shoulder.

"I want you to know that you're acting very selfish right now. If you injure yourself in anyway, you injure the kingdom. Who is left to reign after me? Your father? I will never let him near the throne. You must restrain yourself for your country's sake. You are crown prince, Bastien. You can never be the most important thin in your life."

Bastien shook with repressed sobs.

"I'm going to leave you now, and I expect you to think this over and then act as if nothing is wrong. Nothing is wrong. You are still Bastien, you are still my heir, you are still crown prince. Stop behaving like a child and accept that."

His father's footsteps faded into the distance. Bastien stood alone on that wall for a long, long time, sobbing. Then he went back into his chambers, washed his face, and continued as though all were normal.

* * *

"I humbly request your permission to marry," Tristan said formally.

He and Eirian stood before the king. As the king's brother, Tristan needed permission to wed anyone, and as a reformed man, he hardly wanted to offend Rudolf.

"I will not grant it," Rudolf said.

"What?" Eirian and Tristan chorused.

"I do not grant my permission for you to wed. I will not have more of my brother's progeny wandering my country. So far he has proven only a detriment to the royal line and, as such, shall not be permitted to wed."

Tristan looked sadly at Eirian. So this was the end of it. His brother refused, and they never wed. Would she still stay with him, even if he could never love her as a wife?

"No," Eirian said, quite unexpectedly.

"Excuse me?"

"I will not allow you to forbid our marriage. Your refusal is based on petty revenge, and I will not take it. We ask for nothing from you but permission. We will not come to your court and embarrass you. We will not coerce any form of money or other grants out of you. We wish only to be wed. We will live in his castle, far away from your capital, and we will have no contact with you or yours. You will not even know we will exist. But you will allow us to marry."

Both brothers stared at her in amazement.

"You will marry no one," sputtered the king at last, "unless it is my heir."

"Father," Bastien said softly from where he had been watching. "Let them wed."

"What?"

"Let them wed. Let them have their bliss." He rose out of his chair. He had lost weight in the past weeks. He approached Eirian, his eyes burning.

"Remember, Cece, you will always have me to turn to when he finds someone else he fancies more."

The door slammed as the crown prince left. Tristan laid a comforting hand on Eirian, who was quivering with rage.

"Well," Rudolf said after a moment of astonished silence. "It appears my heir has spoken. Consider yourselves banished to your castle. I do not wish to see you anywhere near here in my lifetime, or my children's, or my grandchildren's. Am I quite understood?"

"We are leaving even now," Eirian said haughtily, and stalked off to her chambers to pack.

Tristan stayed behind. "Thank you, Brother," he said, extending his hand.

"Get out of my sight," Rudolf said, and that was the last time the two saw each other.

* * *

Weeks had passed since the Awakening. Already the air was warming, as though spring were on the horizon, but there were still weeks of winter to come.

On the day of the Awakening, Sally Tailor had been the first to rise. She could only imagine what she looked like. Her gown was faded in the front, bleached by the sun. Her once-dark hair had whitened as well. She felt old.

Her first task had been to visit her family. They had been so surprised, after so many years without her. Her children were grown and had their own children. She delighted in bouncing them on her knee.

"How is it that you are free, Mother?" her son John had asked.

"The curse is broken," she said. She repeated it again, more confidently. "The curse is broken."

She had paid her regrets to her family and returned to the castle, where the staff had gathered.

"We must clean this castle until it shines," she said authoritatively. "I believe we shall soon have a wedding on our hands."

And now, at last, the castle was restored to its final glory. Sally smiled. The master would be so pleased!

* * *

The tinker rose slowly at the knock at his door. "I'm coming, I'm coming," he called as he painfully crossed the main room of his house. He opened the door, expecting Miranda or perhaps even Cece- would he ever see her again?- but all he saw was a crippled man on a crutch.

"Do I know you?" he asked brusquely. The man did look somewhat familiar but…

"Please, I went to the Glass Lady, because it was called the Glass Lady, but they said you have the glass lady herself. May I see her?"

The tinker looked closely at the man. He was younger than he appeared, for his hair was thick and dark though his face was scarred and he walked on a leg and a crutch.

"Who are you?" the tinker asked.

"Please, sir, I think you have my wife," the man replied.

The two men went out to the shed, where the tinker opened the annex door and let the young man in.

"Oh, Rosamund!" he cried, throwing himself at her. The tinker caught the back of his shirt.

"Watch yourself!" he said sharply. "Don't break her."

"Oh, of course." The man held back. "Can you help me? I think I could help her, if we could get her to the castle."

The tinker smiled at the thought of the woman he might have loved, alive again. "Of course I'll help," he said. "Let me get my wagon."

The two hoisted the woman gently up into the bed of the wagon, which was covered in a heavy bedding of straw. Then, slowly and gently, they eased the wagon up the road to the castle. The tinker was once again grateful for his steady old gelding.

When they reached the castle gate, the tinker alighted and opened the gates. Thanks to their recent cleaning, they opened easily at his hand.

"All right, ease 'er through," he called to the young man.

The cart came through the gates. The two men waited with bated breath.

"-rian," the woman breathed. The glass disappeared completely, replaced with living skin. She sat up, looking amazedly at her hands, her body.

"What happened?" she asked softly. Then she noticed her husband and leapt out of the cart.

"Oh, Daniel," she cried. "I thought you were dead."

"So did I," he said into her hair. "I didn't think I'd see you again."

"But what's happened to you? Are you all right?"

"I am now," he said, and kissed her.

"But how?" she asked, pulling away. "How was the curse broken?"

The tinker spoke up for the first time. "If your curse was broken, it was none other than your Eirian what did it," he said.

Rosamund smiled. "I never thanked you, Tinker, for your kind care for me. And it appears you've raised my daughter as well. Can I ever repay you?"

"There's nothing that needs repaying," he replied. "Your daughter's been nothing but a joy to me all this time."

"Make way!" called a voice from the wall above them. "They come!"

The three turned around, and sure enough, Cece and Tristan rode up to the gate.

"Look at this place!" Cece exclaimed. "I cannot believe it is the same castle!"

"Eirian!" Rosamund cried, rushing to her daughter.

Cece looked at her, confused. "Mother?" she asked.

"Oh, Eirian!" The woman approached her daughter, who in turn dismounted her horse and rushed to her mother.

"But you're alive!"

"But you're all grown up!"

They laughed, and Daniel joined them.

Tristan looked at the tinker. "Who are they?" he asked.

"Your servants," the tinker replied. "Her parents."

Sally joined them moments later.

"Master," she said.

"Yes?" he replied.

"Shall we prepare for a wedding?"

"Prepare for the most marvelous wedding the world has ever seen."

Sally left them, and did so.

* * *

Three weeks later, the wedding was held.

The castle chapel was stuffed full of castle servants and townspeople. Tristan was the only nobleman present.

The minister, a pale, shaking man whose arms could barely support his Bible, read the service.

"Do you, Eirian Cecelia Tinker," he asked, using the name she had chosen for herself, "take this man as your husband under God?"

"I do," she said, smiling fondly at her groom.

"And do you, Tristan Aleghieri, take this woman as your wife under God?"

"I do," he replied, and he kissed her to uproarious applause.

* * *

The dance required everyone to switch partners. Tristan parted rather reluctantly with his bride, and Sally Tailor spun into his arms.

He touched a loose lock of her white hair mournfully. "Your hair would still be dark if you hadn't been so stubborn," he told her.

She laughed at him. "I would trade dark hair for sunshine any day," she replied.

"You saved me, during those years, you know," he whispered.

"I never thought of it as saving you, Master. I thought of it as keeping you company."

"And look how it's all turned out. Who could have guessed it would end this happily?"

"Why, Master," Sally replied, "didn't I tell you time and again it would end this way?"

* * *

Well. It's over.

I would like to thank my marvelous reviewers, especially Thai Libre, who's been with me since the beginning, and Jocanda, who stuck with me as an anonymous reviewer after I went two months without updating. Now that's dedication!

I can only hope some of you will follow me to future fics, whatever they may be, but if this is the end of our journey, it's been a great ride, and thank you again.

I'm being really melodramatic but I'm actually really sad. This is the first thing I've ever finished. Ever. So yeah.

I'm going to ask one more time for reviews, and I promise I'll answer any questions!

!--Mazzie--!


	32. Author's Note

Hey guys.

I know, I know, this story's over, and I'm afraid there's been a little bit of hope that's crushed to find that this is just an author's note. But it is, unfortunately.

I've recently decided to begin the arduous process of editing, and while I have my own ideas for what I want to do, I could definitely use a few other people helping me out. So if there's _anything_ that you think needs changing, leave me a review or PM me or whatever and let me know. I just sifted through reviews and compiled all your comments into notes for myself so I could make this better. Seriously. Anything. Even if it's something totally random like "I think Cece would be more relatable if her name was Susan." Just let me know.

Unfortunately, I don't plan on reposting the edited version, so except for the vague chance I get this published, you won't see your advice in action. However, you will have my eternal gratitude and a place in the acknowledgments if this ever does get published :). Also, I feel like this note is really awkward, so I'm just going to end it before you all get ridiculously low opinions of me and decide never to speak to me again.

Thanks in advance,

~~Mazzie~~


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